Enslavement
by LibraMoon
Summary: AU. Mages have always been little more than cursed weapons, but even the Chantry could tell their potential. The Tower was little more than a ring of forced prositution and the plight of the mages was far more than a lack of freedom. Dark themes, mature
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: Very dark with extremely mature themes. I own nothing Rated M. This is an AU story, more or less a tangent on what the plight of the mages really could have been. **

She had been twelve with the cusp of womanhood approaching quickly when she was forcibly thrown to the gray stone floor. Her terrified eyes had widened and watched the flickering of the torch light as it danced in a mocking patter on the sheen of the stone as she had withdrawn into herself while balanced on her hands and knees. The ragged sound of her breathing had been the only thing she heard over the eerie silence that blanketed the room stiflingly. As hard as she tried, she had been unable to stop the trembling while her mind reeled still with the halting knowledge that she was a mage, a cursed magic born monstrosity, which had been surrendered more than eagerly to the law of the Chantry.

For four days she had been collared, far too much like a willful hound that it goaded greatly on her nerves, but Solona had endured it all with a grace seldom found in a young woman. Had it been fear or pride that kept her going, she could not have said. However, her handlers had been less than kind in their treatment of her and their vague remarks of how well she would 'do' in the tower left her strangely cold. Their eyes had roamed over her lithe figure with an interest that had her recoiling from them at every stop or attempted touch. It had worried her that they had done nothing more than laughed at her discomfort, yet their eyes had never strayed long from her.

The Chantry had extremely strict laws when it came to the regard of mages. In no uncertain terms, mages were to be surrendered to the Templars or the Circle of Magi directly, whichever was sooner. Harboring an apostate, not that Solona had ever heard much about apostates outside of being told they were inherently evil, was punishable by death. Even being related to an apostate was a social smear that left many more than willing to surrender over any mage; related or not. The Chantry had always been known to be ruthless in dealing with those that defied the will of The Grand Cleric. The same laws that Solona herself had been taught since she had been old enough to toddle away from her mother's side had now come to apply to her with brutal clarity. She was less than a second class citizen, worth less than any servant or even a beggar on the side of the roadway. As a mage Solona was revoked all the natural born rights of a citizen in Ferelden. She was now little more than a walking weapon or abomination waiting to happen in the eyes of all inhabitants and she would be confined to the Circle tower until the end of her days. Saddened by the sheer weight of how her life had changed, Solona had thought only of the last time she had seen her mother. A mother that had all but thrown her to the mercy of these wolves once the horror had etched her features at her daughter's birth defect. Solona narrowed a broken gaze upward to the booted metal feet of a man that stood expectantly before her.

"I trust you will cause no trouble?" The voice had been hardened like iron over a forge after many folding's. Solona stared mutely from her prone position without comment. Her heart still torn from the loss of all she had ever known, or dared to dream of.

Solona cautiously flicked out her dry tongue to lick even drier cracked lips, reveling slightly in the pain that it caused which reminded the young girl that she was still alive even if she felt that life had not mattered at this point.

"I will take your silence as a yes." The tone had been clipped and there was a warning laced tightly with those words that forced a smaller part of Solona to jerk her head in a nod of acceptance. Her vision had been filled with the furious eyes of a much older man, one that looked even older than her own father, but Solona would not have guessed that their ages differed by much. She suddenly had felt so small compared to the towering mass of man before from the position at his feet.

"What is your name mage?" His thundering question caused her to flinch and shake noticeably. Solona cast her eyes back down to the cold stone floor seeking some vestiges of comfort only to find none.

"S-Solona." Her voice had been soft, and she had the distinct impression that the man strained to hear her. Her teeth clenched as she felt the bubbling hatred for how weak her voice had sounded, but she was young and frightened.

"Don't test my patience young one, what is your full name." The shuffling of footsteps distracted Solona from the cold swirl of dread his statement created. The swishing of colorful fabric entered her view and Solona stared at the woman that had come to rest at the man's side. The woman's red hair caught Solona's attention and she had been struck by the thought of how pretty the woman was in spite of the tell-tale signs of white at her temples.

"Knight-Commander, please, you are scaring the poor thing." Solona watched the woman place a soft touch on the armor the man wore. Solona could not have said what caused the man's face to soften slightly, or why he shifted his stance but the clank of metal caused the young girl to wince again. She could feel her hands cooling swiftly on the stone floor when the more subdued voice of the woman rang out clearer than any bell in the vast stone room. "What is your name child?"

Solona blinked back tears of fear and relief at the concerned but warm expression of the unknown woman. She was aware that her elbows shook under the strain of holding her pose on the floor. "Solona Amell." It was a ghost of her true voice, but the girl managed with only a tiny warble in the tone that betrayed the still lingering fear.

"Solona? What a pretty name, for such a pretty girl." Solona edged away attentively when the woman crouched down on the floor before her, the blazing heat that radiated off the woman's body helped to but Solona at the barest hints of ease. "It is alright child." The woman crooned softly and Solona had been beset by an ache to see her mother again, to be wrapped in loving arms that belonged to a familiar voice which would tell her this was all a horrible dream.

"Don't coddle the girl." The hiss of the Knight-Commanders voice brought both women out of a tenderly forged moment of compassion and back to the matter at hand.

Solona thought for a moment that the woman would rebuke the man, but she nodded quietly and waved her hand to the left. The sounds of more rustling fabric brought with foreign faces as women had surrounded her. Solona tried to look at them all as soft but firm hands dragged her upward to stand.

"Solona." The girl's attention snapped back to the nice woman with the graying red hair as it shone akin to a dying ember in the dim room. "We need to take some of your blood." The girl knew she must have shown the alarm she felt, for the woman crooned at her gently again. "Not very much and I promise you I will try to make it as painless as possible, but to do that you have to remain very still. Can you do that?" Warm eyes stared into hers and Solona bit her trembling lower lip and nodded only once as the flash of metal reflecting in the torchlight caught her eyes.

Solona scrunched up her eyes so that she could no longer see the sharp dagger that had been grasped tightly in the woman's hands. Her body shook with fear and Solona felt the tears welling in her eyes while a soft sob racked her frame. The ripping of her flesh as it gave way to the metal's edge caused Solona to cry out. Her terrified noise was met with a snort of impatience from the man, that Solona had already decided she did not like. Her small hand, attached to her uninjured arm, grasped blindly at one of the women holding her and she was grateful when an answering squeeze responded to her panicked reach. Unknown hands smoothed her hair and one of the women muttered kind words in her ear; telling her that she was brave and that she had done such a good job at holding still.

Solona opened her eyes to see that the first woman held a vial under the crimson flow of blood that originated from her inner elbow, soft and gentle hands squeezed lightly at the cut and Solona hissed with an large intake of breath. More tears carved a path down already stained cheeks as the girl watched the vial fill with her own life blood. Then, Solona had been fascinated to watch a soft glow of green emanate from the mature woman's hand as it wrapped boldly around her injury. The girl hiccupped a time or two as the pain had faded and the wound closed before that glow of green.

"Is it done yet?" The man snapped out angrily and Solona backed up, or attempted to before the bodies of the other women stopped her swiftly.

"Yes, Knight-Commander, it is done." The red haired woman responded cordially and Solona watched the man's face once more soften, before hard eyes trained upon her face.

"Apprentice Amell." Solona shivered at the direct address and the strange title now linked tightly with her surname. "There are rules that you must know to live without incident in The Circle. If you fall prey to a demon you will be slain swiftly and without exception. You are never to practice magic without your instructor present until you are a harrowed mage." The word 'harrowed' was one she had never heard and the girl struggled to understand the meaning even as the Knight-Commander continued on. "Furthermore, there are privileges that can be obtained, such as an extra set of clothing, or prolonged time in the library, even better nourishment if you are so inclined. However, only mages that behave and meet a certain criteria are allowed to partake in these privileges."

She had not understood what he meant. The young girl had no idea what was required to gain such incentives or niceties, but she had grasped firmly to a hope that living behind these cold walls would not be altogether horrid. Confusion lit her features quickly at the shadowed reference to something she had not known.

"With your permission, Knight-Commander, perhaps it would be best if I explained it to her?" The red headed woman smiled charmingly and once more Solona watched her place a tiny touch to his armor. "You have far more pressing duties to attend to than the instruction of one mage child."

Solona saw the man waiver for a moment before giving in and glowering at her once more. "Fine, but make sure she knows every rule. Any she breaks will be on your head as First-Enchanter." He growled lowly and then yanked on the kind woman's hair until her head tilted backward and exposed her pale neck under the firelight. Solona had wanted to protest his treatment of her, to stop him from harming the woman that had been so comforting in a time of abysmal hell. Small and childish words of protest died on her lips when the armored man ravaged the woman's mouth with abject hunger before he abruptly departed all but slamming the door behind him.

The women holding Solona released her gently and she stared horrified at the now tussled hair of the woman before her. "I can see that you are confused." Her tone was soft and indulgent, but Solona could not stop the sense of betrayal that crept along her veins as quietly as a mouse. A troubled sigh from the woman forced Solona to look away from the dejected face of the one that had healed her. "Where do I begin?"

A stubborn glare met her rhetorical question and the woman smiled down at Solona, although it had not reached her eyes.

"My name is Wynne. I am the first Enchanter for the Circle of Magi of Ferelden. The women next to you are Bessie and Petra respectively.." Solona cast a quick glance to the women who nodded at her politely. "The man you just met was the Knight-Commander Greagoir, he is in charge of the Circle's Templars. You would do very well to remember to stay on their good side child. The Templars are not to be trifled with and until you are a harrowed mage, something we will talk about later, I suggest you do not speak to any of them." Something in Wynne's face twisted and Solona had thought she was in pain. "The privileges that where stated to you, there are more than that, however…" Solona watched the woman's eyes dart around the room searching for words that refused to come to her.

"However they are for girls that are older than you." The one named Petra chimed in softly.

"I-I don't understand." Solona croaked out her mind puzzling over what would have caused all the women to look so crestfallen suddenly.

"Young one, Solona." The First-Enchanter corrected gently her fingers fidgeting nervously with the small round button at the collar of her robe. "What do you know about mages?"

A thudding of her heart as it leapt painfully at the utterance of what she had become and Solona licked her cracked lips again. "I know that the Chantry says that they are cursed by the Maker." She said 'they' because it still burned in her throat and mind to even have attempted to say 'we'.

A dismissive snort from her right jarred her to look at the one called Bessie who glowered at her fiercely. "Outside of that Chantry rubbish, what do you know about mages?" The flaxen haired woman had demanded.

Shame stormed deep in her chest and Solona bowed her head in apology. "Nothing. I know nothing about mages."

The shuffling of fabric played in a deafening symphony as the three women flinched nearly in unison. "Mages are almost always female. Though male mages are not unheard of, they are exceedingly rare." Solona peeked a gaze at Wynne whose face had formed into a pale mask of neutrality. "Nearly every mage in this tower is a woman; there are a dozen or so girls about your age this year and I will introduce you to them in a bit. Mages must remain in the Circle, as I am sure you know." The heavy pause forced Solona to meet the woman's gaze and she paled.

"Yes, I do know that." The girl muttered disheartened.

"What you may not know-" The First Enchanter had tested the words as if they were a rare and dangerous poison. "Is that we are not forbidden to marry, or even to have children." A brief flash of heart-wrenching sorrow reflected in the eyes of the woman and Solona wondered at the cause. "However, we are only allowed to do those things with certain men. The Chantry even encourages it to an extent."

The bitter laugh of the woman Bessie stopped the budding question Solona had dearly wanted to ask. "Bloody Chantry hypocrites." The snarled slight jarred Solona and she frowned at the woman for her insult.

"You shouldn't say things like that." Solona had bitten out like a cornered kitten, more fluff than claws at the imagined offense to the religious structure.

"One day, you will understand." The statement was ominous and Solona swallowed the fresh rush of fear that leapt into her throat.

"Enough Bessie." Wynne's voice brooked no argument and Solona felt gratification at the woman's mumbled apology. "As I was saying, the Chantry encourages us to marry and have children to strengthen our ties to the country and by association make us far more loyal in battle. Our partners must be approved members of the chantry or have taken oaths to serve the Chantry above all else. However, it is not us that choose our partners. Our partners choose us."

"I don't understand." The child whispered out in the dim room, while fear ate at her insides without remorse.

"What she is saying, is that mages are only allowed to marry or find lovers in Templars. Mages are not allowed to be romantically involved with other mages. Our…privileges-" The woman called Petra struggled to continue, her face was bathed in the warmth of a hot blush and Solona stood only more confused than before. "-stem from being able to catch the attention of a Templar. Those that please a Templar as a lover or companion are granted nicer amenities."

"But, I thought Templars were called to strike down mages when needed?" Solona asked hurriedly, for she felt as if she had just been told the sky was purple.

"They do." Bessie responded without artifice and Solona could tell that the woman was clenching her teeth.

"How can they if mages are their wives? The mothers of their children?" The girl bit out hysterically at the thought of bearing a child for a man that would lay her low without hesitation.

"They obey the Chantry over all else. The Templars do not have to form a binding covenant with us such as marriage; it is up to the man's discretion. Mages are simply tools for war. We are powerful spell casters that decimate large groups of enemy soldiers. We are kept by the Chantry in the Circle until we are needed. Every nation wants the strongest weapons, the most deadly, so we are bred to keep the numbers strong." Wynne stated apathetically as if this were common knowledge. "The Templars that have served the Chantry Faithfully, or have proven to superior in mastering the Templar talents are rewarded by being sent to the Circle for a few year's time. Normally their time stationed here is long enough to find a mage to their liking and give their affections."

The bitter acid of bile rose unbidden to the back of her mouth as Solona digested that startling kernel of information. "I-I'm only twelve. I don't want the affections of a Templar." The young girl began to blubber and the women looked on in helpless resignation.

"Sh. Calm yourself young one. You are too young for that to be asked of you just yet." The calming touch of Wynne rested on her shoulder as the girl bawled out of repulsion and fear.

Hazel eyes blinked back tears and the surge of hope that began to thrum through her blazed a trail to her eyes. "I am?" Her voice had been thick with tears and emotion. She noticed that Wynne looked away from her gaze.

"The age in which you may consent to that part of your life is seventeen. You also will not be forced by any Templar, which is strictly against the law of the Circle. However, you will not be given any luxuries if you decided not to encourage at least one man's affections. " Solona pondered the consequences before childish will spiked and she firmly convinced herself that she would gladly live without any amenities if that meant she would not have to sell herself like a common whore.

"I can live without those things." Her tone had been resolute and determined but the pitying gazes of the women around her had not gone without notice.

"You are still young, Solona, not quite aware of the ways of the world. There will be plenty of time to make that choice." Wynne soothed and Solona fumed at the assumption that she would eventually fall victim to circumstance as they had. Indignation stained her face with all the artistry of a watercolor painting. "You will see many things in this place that you do not yet understand; both magically and not. I warn you to be on your best behavior at all times."

The stern look that Solona received reminded her so much of the mother she had been taken from that pain sliced through her chest like a knife.

"The other rules the Knight-Commander mentioned apply to us all. Even the oldest mages must abide by them. We have a curfew; you being an apprentice will be expected to retire one hour prior to the harrowed mages. You must not run in the halls or take food out of the dining area, that is forbidden as well. Your clothing must always be neat and presentable. You may not switch clothing with any of the other girls; you have to maintain your own sets of robes. Any form of speaking with a Templar outside of…making arrangements is prohibited. Everything else you need to know, you are just going to have to learn young one."

Solona frowned at the last part, for it had sounded almost like a thinly-veiled threat. Until the clanking of metal feet had begun to echo down the corridor approaching the room they occupied. The large wooden door swung wide with a frightening display of force and the scowling face of the Knight-Commander appeared. The women had stilled like frightened animals before the jaws of a hungry mountain lion.

"Has she been fully instructed?" The question was a curt as his earlier ones and Solona struggled not to find the man as vile as a snake.

Solona's small frame trembled once again and she watched as the First Enchanter nodded. "Of course Knight-Commander."

A grunt of indifference melded with acknowledgement was his only response and the young girl jittered as she watched the vial of her blood being released from Wynne's hands and into the massive grasp of the Knight-Commander. "Escort the apprentice to her room." He waved a dismissive hand to the other two women, while his eyes focused on the First Enchanter darkly.. "You stay here." He commanded and Solona watched the woman as she fell silent and passive. Solona had not understood the dark look in the man's eyes or why Wynne had flushed then looked away, but she was given little time to contemplate such a mystery as the vise like grip of Petra clamped around her arm.

Solona watched the door close behind them as she stared at the unfamiliar walls of the prison she would now call home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for reading and those that reviewed….YOU ROCK!. Rated M. I own nothing. I also don't right underage stuff…so even though 17 is technically not the legal age of consent, I really don't see that big a deal with it.**

**Warning: Cullen in the next three chapters….still undecided which one as of yet.**

Solona had crept passed the newest flocks of freshly brought mages with the look of a woman haunted. She had been in this hellish world for three years already and each day seemed vast or as unending as the next. The horrors and atrocities she had witnessed upon her arrival while the women had valiantly tried to keep the worst of the debauchery behind closed doors, was sickening at best. On her worst days Solona was terrified of each second that passed making her that much older. Each seconded that brought her that much closer to being fair game to some amorous Templar. It had become a bitter joke amongst the women over who would be 'available' next for the hungry gazes and touches of men in a position of power.

Wynne had told her upon her first few moments in the Tower of flesh peddling and oppression, that the age of consent for the despicable bid for amenities and luxuries was seventeen. The reason behind such an age set was that after five years of being within the tower's walls a mage should have mastered their magic and once they were out from under the safe harbor of being labeled an apprentice, a mage was considered in their full capabilities. Therefore, the mage was old enough to follow the ways of the tower without comment or question. However, Solona had been shown that even though the age limit was set, in which every female was considered a viable love interest, it had not always been abided and provided that the woman had not been unwilling no one had enforced it in quite some time. She had seen girls both slightly older and far younger than herself engaging in inappropriate acts for the benefit of a few hot bathes or an extra blanket on cold nights. Solona had clung to the remnants of pride and modesty so she had not ever even attempted to lure a Templar with her whims. The young mage dreaded the day that such acts might be proved necessary as she slipped quietly around with her head down to avoid attention.

Solona had found a brief reprieve in the understanding that basic things such as personal hygiene items and food could not be denied to her until she was to the age of consent. It brought her astoundingly little comfort, but the cold comfort that was provided Solona held fast to as all around her women who did not submit under the guise of a willing bed partner were punished. The young woman had been struck by the cruel ingenuity of the Templars and the Chantry proper. They could not force a mage into copulation, that was barbaric, but they made sure that those who were less than accommodating would be denied every basic creature comfort until they succumbed to the Templar's will or found another protector. _Protector_, Solona hissed to herself silently as the title caused her stomach to pitch and turn.

The title was given to a Templar that had engaged into a relationship with a mage in the Circle, normally protocol demanded that the relationship be declared to the Knight-Commander. It was the Protector's duty to make sure that the mage was not harassed by another male and to secure the items of their privileges for them. There had become a point where the mage bed warmer was little more than a pampered pet that a Templar swore to take care of, including feeding. Solona had witnessed several occasions where a 'protector' had to be called upon to deal with a different Templar who was not yet aware of the mage's taken status. It was an unspoken taboo to fight over a mage, any mage, and once the mage's provider had come the other male was forced to step down. However, Solona had learned that having a protector was extremely different from the endless bouts of meaningless single interactions of intercourse which were used as bartering tools for the occasional treat. Any man that had a deeper inclination to a mage more than a good rutting took ownership over that mage in the eyes of the other Templars. All the mages mistakes became his and therefore 'protectors' were seldom had except by the older women or those that had been stationed at the Circle for a long time. She had understood within the first three days that should a Templar take interest in you, sex was soon expected to follow. It was so common place that Solona despised every moment confined with these bestial men.

However, there were those that flourished under such conditions. Several women were known as prizes among the Circle residents due to their vivacious appetites that were only surpassed by their skills in lovemaking. Some mages went to the most skilled for tips and tricks to pull in order to gain favor. Solona had been fortunate enough to have been introduced to one of those mages already. Wynne, was by all accounts the best amongst the mages for pleasuring, but as First Enchanter she belonged to, or had been inherited by depending on which version of the tale Solona was told, the Knight-Commander. Therefore, Wynne had been strictly off limits for many a year upon Solona's arrival.

Solona had been given a few interested looks and approached by one particularly insistent Templar, whom had been nearly twice her age, about a tussle in exchange for a new set of robes or a favor to be called in on a later date. The young woman had been petrified on what to do or say, but she had clung to the small buffer that time afforded her. Solona had brushed off the man's advances with a weakened statement of not being old enough. Though the man had been greatly displeased, he could not outright punish her and Solona had hastily beat a retreat for library. The whole experience had left a greasy taste in her mouth or what the horizon held for her in such a place when the thin shield that kept the Templars from her would be removed forever.

Petra, a harrowed mage, had taken Solona under her wing after their initial meeting. She had been assigned to Solona as a teacher where their friendship had grown into a sisterly affection between the pair. Solona had learned a great deal form watching Petra interact with the Templars and also from the times in which she denied a particular male's attentions only to have bathing or articles of clothing taken. On one especially nasty occasion, a Templar had not taken Petra's rejection well and forced her out of her room to sleep in the hallway for three weeks without pillows or blankets. Solona sadly reflected that after such a harsh discipline combined with lost sleep, Petra had sought the Templar out and submitted to his original request. The look of absolute defeat on the woman's face had nearly undone Solona. Petra had never spoken about it, but Solona had not missed copious appreciative glances that same Templar had continued to sneak at Petra which indicated that further services might be requested.

Worse still, had been the plight of the tranquil mages. Solona wept bitter tears of sorrow for the women unable to feel anything emotionally, but where left physically capable of feeling everything. She had seen how frequently the tranquil were used as little more than unpaid whores and free labor. The emotionally deficit women would be traded with other Circles when the Templars tired of having to conquest the same sets of women repeatedly. The tranquil were also required to give their bodies to important guests or to the Grey Wardens when they came to recruit among the harrowed mages. The injustice of it all burned at her heart leaving it a cauterized mess on the floor of the unforgiving stone tower. She hated every man that lay with them even if the tranquil claimed to be willing. She often wondered how they could be willing when they could not feel any sort of emotion and then she would feel the swift sting of jealousy because in her mind perhaps it was better to not be forced to deal with the self-loathing she knew she would feel.

It was so far beyond what Solona thought herself capable of. She was just a mageling of fifteen who still had two years to learn and control her magic. She crept into her shared communal room to block out the faces of the newest apprentices that had arrived. She had come to understand why the First Enchanter had been so hesitant to explain the unquestioned laws of the Tower. _How will I handle it?_ She queried of herself unceasingly. _How will I tell scores of girls that their lives are over? How will I tell them that their best hope is to spread their legs for any man that will take an interest in them? _ Though she had asked herself those very questions countless times, Solona had never been able to answer the self-promptings. She stonily sought out her bed, nestled between the rows of other bunks. Solona refused to be one of the easier targets that slept on the outskirts of the others. The youngest ones normally slept closest to the doors, where Templars who stood all night in constant vigil had little interest in flesh so young.

However, as the girls grew, Solona had later been informed that the best way to stay out of more bold Templar influence was to get further into the gaggle of girls. There was a flimsy sort of protection provided by the childish questions of a Templar's presence in the middle of the night. Though Solona had come in around the same time as one dozen other apprentices, she remained among only two others that had not purposefully sought to slake the carnal pleasure of a Templar for benefit. It was a fruitless victory over the corrupted system, and Solona felt a little embittered that one of the two others was male. It had not escaped her knowledge that not all the Templars were interested in strictly women and therefore her fellow apprentice had his own set of battles to wage. Not every Templar was a man either, but the vast majority were. Solona could have counted on one hand, with fingers to spare, the number of female Templars in attendance at the Circle.

Furthermore, it had made her even more paranoid when she had discovered that the Knight-Commander allowed Templar initiates to hone their skills on unharrowed mages; with harrowed mages as training reserved for only the most advanced. Solona plunked heavily upon her bed as the memories of her first smite rushed unbidden to her mind. All the fears that she had held tight to her breast upon entering the Circle had been taken and twisted by lust filled depravity. It was nearly an unending nightmare between the numbers of women that committed suicide, the yowls of those forced to bear children that were then cruelly ripped from their arms, and the constant threat of another woman turning into an abomination. There were many moments of darkness in a place such as this, so many that Solona had nearly forgotten what the sun looked like.

Such happenings had always been seldom, but Solona could have recalled vividly each one she had ever witnessed. She could still see the outline of an unknown mage as their flesh had warped into a startling figure of diseased flesh called an abomination. Solona had been present when the Templars had leapt upon it with full fury and killed the wretched creature. Horror had clawed through her breast as she had found herself greatful to the men she normally despised. She closed her eyes and leaned her face into her hands as her mind struggled to push back the images of the new frightened girls. Solona wondered how many of them would fall victim to circumstance and how many would even make it to the harrowing. The harrowing had been the one thing Solona dreaded more than growing older. Many mages that left for their harrowing never returned, or they were made tranquil and she had hated both results in equal measure.

The cracking of a door opening behind her caused Solona to lift her head up toward the noise. Her hazel eyes locked onto the familiar image of a Templar in full armor. Her heart skipped a beat as the unknown man scanned the surrounding area as if he were looking for another person amidst the rows of empty beds. Her breath hitched in her throat as the Templar's eyes came to rest upon her and an eerily recognizable emotion flittered across his eyes. Solona's body jerked with instinct as much as reaction to the precarious situation as she stood to face him.

"Greetings Apprentice Amell." The low and leering timber of Ser Carroll floated in her ears causing the previously skipped heartbeat to stumble back with a vengeance. Solona had been uneasy around Ser Carroll from the first time she had ever met him. In her opinion something about the man oozed that he had been a waste of human flesh and she had never been given reason to reevaluate that opinion. She considered him stupid as well as a cad. Unfortunately, Carroll had taken a shine to Solona who had attempted to avoid him at every possible opportunity, sometimes she had gone to considerable lengths to avoid his patrol area.

"Ser Carroll." She replied unsteadily as her eyes darted to the only door nearly a foot behind him. The vast and empty room seemed to close in around her as she stared into dark eyes that refused to leave hers.

"I noticed that you weren't eating very much at dinner tonight." He started conversationally and Solona fidgeted nervously at being alone with a man that clearly wanted more from her than conversation. She guessed him to be around twenty, perhaps twenty three years of age; younger than most but far older than herself. Solona felt her stomach churn as if she had ingested something foul and her palms began to sweat which forced her to clasp them behind her back. She understood that she had to behave despite her growing apprehension for any uncivil behavior was dealt with harshly. Too many times she had seen how disrespect was beaten out of a mage without hesitation.

_I hardly ate because you were staring at me the entire meal._ She thought viciously about how uncomfortable she had been throughout the entire ordeal, though it had become more common as of late. However, as much as she had steeled herself against his intruding gaze it still robbed her of any appetite she might have had every time. To make matters even more morbid, the newest mages had been brought in and any attempt at eating had been forgone in favor of escaping their all too familiar terrified gazes; or the sickeningly appraising returning glances of Templars who were looking at the young girls as future investment opportunities. Solona desperately wished for something that would have allowed her an escape from Ser Carroll and his all-consuming gaze.

Her face flushed slightly even in the dimmed room and she knew he had seen when his eyes had widened slightly as his body moved forward a single step. Solona felt the panic as it gripped at her throat tightly heralding the lack of space between her and the man who could easily harm her for an imagined transgression.

"Ah, Yes. I am not feeling well." Her hazel eyes flicked downward and she watched with great agitation his booted feet as she prayed he would not draw any closer. While it had not been wholly a lie, Solona felt the thickness of the falsehood as it welled through her mouth. Mages where heavily encouraged to always tell the truth to Templars, and Solona felt a slight quaking in her knees as she kept her gaze downcast. She felt like a rabbit cornered by a hungry fox that sought to rip into her tender flesh and take all it could.

"That is unfortunate. Do you require the services of a senior healer?" His voice was casual, but Solona could still feel his gaze on her hot and wanting which made her slightly shiver in revulsion. Concern sparked on the edge of her thoughts and she sought to soothe her frazzled nerves. Her magic crackled softly between them and Solona hurriedly pulled back on her talent willing it under control. _'How had did he know?_' Her thoughts whispered hauntingly. '_How did he know I am a creation mage that he offered the services of a senior mage? How interested is he that he knows about me and has followed me?'_ It had been an unexpected offer that betrayed how much he had known about her. Solona had only ever seen Carroll on patrol, never anywhere near her classes or the library. She understood that he would have had to inquire about her directly from the Knight-Commander or ply the information out of a more willing mage. Dread pooled like molten lead to the pit of her stomach.

"I thank you for your concern, Ser." Her eyes refused to gaze past his knees and Solona swallowed reflexively as she hoped to stop the cottony feeling that talking to him left in her mouth. "I will be well shortly." She mumbled unable to concoct another lie that might have prodded his anger into emerging.

His response had been a hum of acknowledgement and Solona winced internally at the sound. She was still very much frightened of Templars, though none had actually ever done her any form of harm outside of training. She had not feared their might as warriors, but rather their known want of sexual partners. She understood that she could not be forced or demanded to perform any act she did not wish, but Solona had been keenly aware that Templars could and had born grudges against long past slights. Therefore, she had to read extremely lightly with Ser Carroll for worry of what the future might bring from him.

She had continued to fidget with her robe behind her back as her nervous fingers clasped and unclasped the fabric out of his sight. A few heartbeats of silence and she saw his feet as they moved closer and closer to her. Solona braced herself for the physical touch she knew would follow. She had noticed that Templars liked to touch them, the mages, and that any form of physical interaction pleased them. Solona had been taught by Petra that Templars viewed mages as beautiful but dangerous animals. Solona had empathized with that hypocritical opinion for she had felt countless times like an exotic animal hunted for warmth of her body.

"Is there anything that I could provide for you Amell?" The cold touch of his gauntlet as it tipped her head upward caused Solona to close her eyes for she had not wanted to look into his eyes. She feared what she might find hidden in those dark brown depths and what her boldness might misconstrued to the man behind the armor. She trembled lightly at the loss of her title, the removal of the barrier between them.

The gentle increase of pressure along her jawline forced Solona to open her eyes and she looked quickly away from the face far too close to her own. Her hands dropped limply at her sides and she froze for a moment in stark terror, even though she understood that he could not force her she still felt captured. Her tongue lay useless in her mouth as her mind had begun to sort through the implications of what Ser Carroll could hope to accomplish.

"That is generous of you." She half-whispered and her gaze snapped back to his for a fleeting moment. Her words tasted ashen on her lounge as if saying them had burned the flesh that spoke them. "However, I do not require anything-" The stormy look that crossed his face caused a jolt of fear to ripple through her. "-at the moment." She amended quickly and her tongue darted out to lick suddenly parched lips. She knew his gaze had followed the movement for he came impossibly closer and Solona felt as if all the air had left the room as she was held fast in the grip of Carroll.

The low rumble of many footsteps dilled the hall behind the door that separated them from the eyes of others. Solona said a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker for his wonderful timing. Ser Carroll looked as if he loathed relinquishing her, but Solona could not stop the sigh of relief that parted her lips. His dark gaze fell on her once more and the young mage looked back at him with faintheartedness shining brightly though her eyes.

"Perhaps another time?" His timber echoed through her bones and Solona had been certain he could have felt the beating of her heart through the steel of his armor. The huskiness of the statement and underlying invitation concerned the girl deeply. She felt and saw his hand as it withdrew from her now chilled flesh. Solona stood so still that any passerby would have thought her turned to stone by the unwanted touch. "We have all the time in Thedas after all." He murmured, his breath fanned against the tender skin of her cheek. She held her breath as he turned and retreated through the same door he had come from.

She sat heavily on her bed, the trapped breath escaping in one powerful exhalation. Solona brought her hands to her lap and sat there staring at them with mute timidity. Ser Carroll had proved that her short lived time of immunity was swiftly drawing to a close and Solona understood readily in that moment frozen under the weight of his touch why not a single mage that lived in the tower had gone longer than three years outside of their harrowing without having succumbed to the whims of a Templar.

"Solona? There you are! I have been looking all over for you." Petra's voice washed over Solona with the life-giving force of a summer rain storm. "What's wrong? Are you alright?" She could hear her friend as she drew closer to the lone figure perched on the bed.

Solona refused to cry over the shock that permeated her soul. There was nothing she could do to fight back against the ways of the Chantry, which had seen finer mages than her forced into a form of prostitution under the guise of the Maker's will. At fifteen she stood on the precipice of being a harrowed mage and she could feel acutely the passage of time as it carved away at her innocence.

"I am fine Petra." Solona stated numbly, for physically she was completely unmolested.

She watched her older friend glance around the room for signs of what had caused the stony look on the younger mage's face. Solona knew she would find nothing and grasped for her friends robe hem, drawing the woman's gaze back to her. Ferocity to know more about the ways she had turned a blind eye too rushed to the fore front.

"How do you stand it?" The young girl whispered mostly to herself in mute fascination.

"Stand what?" The older woman asked puzzled and her hand began to smooth the younger mage's hair in a sisterly affection. Solona shivered under the touch.

"How can you stand them wanting to touch us, taste us,…take us?" Solona spat the last part of the question as if it were an insult to someone's birth. Fury at her situation in life, and misery at the knowledge she could never change it warred hotly within her. Her mind called sweetly for sleep or something that might relieve the stress her body had been placed under. "How can you stand to give yourself to them in exchange for amenities? How can everyone stand to trade their bodies so freely?" The hunted look that haunted Solona's eyes returned in full force as she envisioned the bright new faces of the night's arrivals.

A placating hand was placed on her shoulder. A firm but unquestioning look bored into her hazel eyes and Petra sighed, looking every day her age as she flatly told Solona the way of the world yet again. "How can we do it? You ask. That part is easy Solona, we do it because we have to. It is our way of life and for many of us this is all we have ever known. When we trade our bodies it is not for pleasure but for personal gain. We mages benefit just as much as the Templars do, and I beg you never to forget that."

Solona swallowed a lump of loathing for the Circle and the Chantry as a whole. Her young fingers threaded more tightly into Petra's robes as she buried her face in the Woman's midsection for comfort and a reprieve from the evils of the world. "I don't think I can do that." The chocked confession blubbered in the back of her throat and she pressed her eyes tightly closed.

"You will have to." Petra stated ominously, her tired eyes had seen more than enough of the world to understand the young girl's plight, but the rules did not stop simply because someone did not wish to do something. Solona understood that Petra had forgotten more about life than Solona would ever know, but still she hated this forced subjugation.

"What if I can't?" The muffled question worked its way into the room leaving a breath of silence as Solona felt Petra's body tense.

"You don't have a choice." Warm arms wrapped around Solona as she fought for breath against the crushing news. "no matter what you thought, what we have told you, there really is not choice." Her soft voice cajoled into Solona's ear with the subtlety of a death knell.

"Then teach me." Solona pleaded with open desperation radiating from behind torn hazel eyes.

"Teach you what?" Petra quirked back with obvious confusion at her friend's harsh grip on her robes and knelt before Solona on the cold stone floor.

"Everything." Solona stated as she drew a breath to steady the waves of worry that still wreaked havoc on her mind. "Teach me everything I need to know or expect. Teach me how to care less about selling myself to the highest bidder."

She watched the look of shock and concern that flirted across Petra's face before cool determination settled on the older woman's features. "I'll go get Wynne" She stated and disentangled herself from the iron grip of the young girl sitting on the bed. Solona did not look to watch her retreat from the room.

Solona stared into the darkness long after Petra had left. Her eyes welled with unshed tears as she contemplated what this path might bring her. She could hear her own heartbeats counting down the time she had left free from men like Ser Carroll. She could hear the sound of time as it wickedly drew back to strike her low.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi there! Thanks for all the reviews. You guys are amazing! Sorry I took a bit of a sabbatical for another story that had a lot of interest from the reviewers.**

**However, for those that have waited patiently, I appreciate it greatly. Here we go! Warning: Cullen in two chapters. Forgive typos, I did do spellcheck.**

**I own nothing, rated M, Bioware owns it all stingy bastards ;)**

Solona dared not move from her silent perch of misery and woe. All she had feared, all she had kept buried in long suffering hopes, clashed in a spectacular war with her moral value. Her face, both pale and impassive, could have put the more intricate carvings of Andraste to shame. Time had slowed to a point past bearing, and each heartbeat caused her chest to pang painfully in rebuke for, what seemed, the very sin of living. It was all so hypocritical that she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of what her life had become.

In moments where she was more inclined to whims of fancy, Solona wondered what her life might have been had the cursed plight of mage-hood not run deep in her veins. However, those idle innocent dreams of a child only served to wound her fragile heart more deeply. Often she was left wondering how her very life blood did not seep from her fingertips and why she had not given into the siren song of suicide. However, a large part of her understood that she could not give into the temptation. This was her one life, and she was determined to live it even in this abysmal hell they had the nerve to call a Circle of Magi.

The flicker of torchlight as wind blew through the pitiful excuse of a window caused Solona to turn her eyes toward the hallway. The silhouettes of two female figures ghosted across the deep gray walls of her ill-disguised prison with the certainty of a lamb being lead to slaughter. Solona felt her stomach tighten in apprehension and nervousness she did and did not feel in equal measure. Shock and disbelief made a soothing sort of poison on her thoughts. She turned her head back to stare into the cold darkness once more as the light footfalls of her fellow mages could be heard.

Wynne's fingers bit cruelly into the tender flesh of Solona's upper arms as she forced her to stand. The younger mage tilted her head down in shame and a quiet reserve that few of such short years possessed. Solona's dark hair fell in a curtain over her shocked, yet deadened, features. The rush of her heart as it beat in worried thumps blocked out sound. The frightful future of what she had resigned herself to caused Solona's attentions inward. She drew inside herself for protection from the harsh realities of a world she hated more with every passing moment confined in the infinite oppressive dark stone walls.

'_Is this really how it all ends?'_ Her childish side had wondered in near stoic contemplation. What would come to pass would be, and no amount of wishing or magic would change the course of fate that had already been set into motion. Her hazel orbs lifted slowly as the world around her contracted to seem so small that Solona had found difficulty in drawing breath. Her entire existence, which had already been vastly limited, was now nearly unbearable. It had felt, for all of Thedas, that a noose had been draped around her shoulders, only to tighten with each moment she refused to pass onto the Maker's side.

The fresh explosion of pain on her cheek had caused Solona to force her consciousness outside the meager shelter that internal isolation had provided. She blinked once in acknowledgement of Wynne's forceful demonstration of assistance. She had been gratified, in a much darker part of her soul, to see eyes as disillusioned as her own as they stared back at her in mute understanding. On some primitive level, Solona had known that out of anyone else confined with her in the sheer depravity of the Circle, Wynne would always understand.

'_For, how could she not? She has lived a lifetime in this hell of mortal making,'_ the young mage thought with a bitter smile. It was a smile that could have sickened a more whimsical person to the core with its animalistic quality.

The elder mage had returned her bitterness with a grim firming of her mouth. Solona recalled swiftly, the first time she had laid eyes upon the classical beauty that was Wynne. It had been a strange motherly comfort then, now Solona only saw the harbinger of her own doom. A doom, which the maturing side of her refused to forget, was of her own choosing. She had understood the moment Ser Carroll had followed her into the communal sleeping area of her peers that her time of innocence was readily drawing to a close. However, she would have rather died a thousand deaths than allow herself to be taken by him first. There was a cold certainty that he might one day force himself upon her through cruelty or deed, but she would never give him the satisfaction of having her body first.

It had been a trifling thing, but Solona clung to it with the ferocity of a dying woman. She was not so naïve that she could not realize this was all she truly had. Her innocence was hers. It was not consolation, but a fact which caused a form of twisted elation to rise hotly in her mind. Solona tilted her head in a mock greeting to the Senior Enchanter. Her unshed tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, and like a rebellious act against the hypocrisy of her life, they fell.

"The time for tears has passed," Wynne's soft, but firm voice had resounded like a shout to the previous deafness of Solona's darkened world.

"Am I to be denied even this?" She asked softly, though she had been forced to battle her very throat for the power of speech.

Cold eyes of one who had seen too many horrors to speak of, regarded her in pure assessment. "If you wish to survive with any part of your spirit intact, then it would be wise to heed everything I advise," Wynne responded with a warning held clear in the lines of her cryptic words.

Words that stabbed like tiny knives into everything Solona had once dared to call herself. Everything she had foolishly sought to conserve even when the entire world had bade her reconsider. Now, she was left bereft of even the prideful sensation of being correct, under the onslaught of knowledge that surpassed her superfluous ideals.

Defeat, humiliation, submission, and hate swirled tightly in Solona's chest. Her ineffectual rage at her circumstances had nearly burned her throat and belly to ashes. However, there was nothing that she would gain from her understandable anger. The young mage knew with absolute certainty, that everything she would ever be rested on the shoulders of the woman who still gripped her cruelly.

There had been a moment of rebellion, a single instant where she had been prepared to reject the very woman she had asked Petra to summon. And, she had been sorely tempted nearly beyond what any human could stand to bite out those caustic words of dismissal. Yet, Solona had also born witness to too many atrocities, and out of preservation, she wished to minimalize the damage she was bound to endure.

"I understand, Senior Enchanter," her voice broke the newest silence that stretched before them like a blanket of stillness.

"You have done well to come to your senses," the woman praised equally as soft despite the severity of the situation at hand.

Solona felt another surge of ire at her wording. She had not 'come to her senses'. She had been forced by extenuating circumstances to break her very will in half to eek out an existence in the Circle of forced prostitution. Humiliation broke over her frame as well as a large heaping of despair as she stared ever forward. The young mage was unable to gaze upon the face of her teacher for fear of her deep hostility toward the subject matter.

"I asked Petra to teach me," she had stated unsteadily while she concentrated on keeping her emotions from breaking her once more, "However, she declined saying that you were the one that could teach me."

A tense heartbeat of tension settled between the pair. Wynne retracted her hands from Solona, and had placed them at her sides. Had Solona been inclined, she would have gazed at the stricken look on the woman's face. However, she was still young, perhaps too young to understand the implication she had hurled at the Senior Enchanter. The magic crackled around them in a symphony of muted hurt and adolescent anger.

A deep breath had been drawn by the elder mage before she responded. "I am your best option," she had conceded slowly, as Solona bit her cheek to keep the last vestiges of her tears in check as well as her barbed lounge.

"You are the only option," Solona bit out frostily, but with an attempt to temper the coldness with reality, as her throat worked to fight the maelstrom of emotion that would have laced her words.

"You might very well be correct," she had watched Wynne's lips as they curled into a near snarl.

Dejection wormed past her anger with slow, yet steady, pulls. "Then teach me," she requested with finality.

Wynne's face came closer to hers, and Solona flinched out of reflex with the lingering disgust from Ser Carroll in the back of her mind. Her once kind eyes were hardened like twin gems of determination and regret. Such a look Solona had never seen, and as she shivered from the open intensity of Wynne's stare; she prayed to never see again. It was stark and consuming all at once. Such a sweet and lovely woman like Wynne should never have been forced into a role that made her look like a poisonous viper ready to strike, while regret lingered in its gaze.

She felt Wynne's magic withdraw back into the corporeal body that wielded it. "Very well," The Senior Enchanter responded with pristine serenity that left Solona envious to her core, "I will teach you, but you much do everything I say."

Solona was only able to manage a miniscule nod of acceptance, which even in the torchlight was hard to discern. Her hazel eyes landed just past Wynne's nose, and she could not force herself to gaze any higher even where the whole of Thedas dependent on it.

Wynne's neatly coifed hair shone under the dim light, and it cast a glow about her continence that caused Solona to straighten unintentionally.

"Whoever you think you are apprentice dies here in this room," light eyes pierced Solona sharply, brooking no room for argument, "tonight. I will help you to become as I am. You will know all the subtle nuances of Circle life. Like all things in magic and in life, there is a price. That price will be the shield of your age I have seen you cling to with such determination."

Solona flinched as Wynne's words struck true. She had been using her age, just two scant years away from seventeen, to keep her safe from the hungry stares and intrusive wants of their Templar 'guardians'. The mere thought of losing the last modicum of her safety, caused the fresh pinpricks of tears to pool at the corners of her eyes.

"Surely you do not suggest-," Solona started with panic lacing her otherwise numbed words.

Wynne stopped her with a potent look that carried the weight of her knowledge and skills behind it. "I suggest nothing. I am not going to send you out to be gobbled up by the first Templar that looks at your body with the curiosity of a man," the distaste was evident on her features at even the preposterous idea.

"Then, I do not understand," Solona whispered in the dim room, while fear and worry plagued at her thoughts relentlessly.

"I will seek to show you how to secure a 'Protector' Solona," Wynne stated tonelessly, in a similar fashion to explaining how a glyph worked, or how elf root could be used to cure contagion.

"A protector?" The query was soft from disbelief and mild abhorrence.

A protector was normally an older Templar. A Templar that was well seasoned, and more often than not, set in their ways and firm in the staunch belief of the Chantry; and all that came with being a pious swordsman of the cause. Solona felt the maelstrom of confusion and panic as it swirled in a steady mixture through her heart. She had already learned that having a protector was extremely different than looking for some infatuated Templar to shield her from Ser Carroll. She knew that if she were able to attract the attentions of such a man, and keep him interested long enough to declare himself to the Knight-Commander for her, that she would be bound to that Templar in such a way that would not allow her any freedoms. Solona understood that she would be reduced to little more than a pet that her owner would guard and feed to the utmost of his abilities. But a pet, she still would be. Her mind could not comprehend which was a worse fate, to be had by many or kept by one without even the right to relieve herself without permission.

Furthermore, those that had proven themselves to be protectors were often highly sought after and Solona was assured that she would be unable to compete with the veritable throngs of females that wished some respite from continuously plying their bodies for basic human amenities. Her doubt showed clearly through her young features.

"You are an attractive girl, Solona. Do not pretend otherwise, for to do so would be nothing more than folly," Wynne supplied gently, and the coaxing manner of her voice helped ease the apprehension that filled the younger mage. "As I have already stated, I will teach you all that I know. However, it will be up to you to secure a Templar to provide you safe harbor from the lurking beasts in this fair Tower of ours."

The mockery had not gone unnoticed by the trembling apprentice. Solona tilted her gaze up to see the sardonic look of malcontent on Wynne's face. She felt her magic twitch like a barley living insect as it wormed out from her control. The young mage tied in earnest not to seem too hysterical given the swift upheaval of her life.

"Who did you have in mind?" the words were nearly indistinguishable over the crackling of the nearby torch as it all but sputtered out.

The room flickered from light to darkness over and over. Solona could only stand, mesmerized, as Wynne's eyes glowed in the unnatural way that all mages possessed when the magic in their bodies came close enough to the surface to be seen, but not wielded.

"I think Ser Otto would be an excellent place to start," the Senior Enchanter stated with the haphazard manner of quoting the weather.

Solona felt her insides pool into numbness as the darkness overcame the room and the torch breathed its final breath. She had heard of him many times, and even seen him upon the rare occasions when she ventured through Ser Carroll's patrol area because it could not have been avoided. Ser Otto had been blinded by a dangerous demon. It had been long before Solona ever set foot in this accursed Tower of flesh peddling and hedonistic indulgence. He had been a Templar in the prime of his career when he was struck a terrible blow. There was nothing that marred his face, only his sight, and it had not kept him from striking down many more a retched demon or abomination.

The young mage quivered at the idea of attempting to coerce a man nearly three times her age into bed. Her mind rebelled against all thought and image that could have been tied to the act itself or how she would accomplish such a momentous task.

"I see that look _apprentice_," Wynne snapped out with efficiency in the nearly pitch-black room. The faint glow from the hall provided very little light inside the dark stone room. "Whatever your concerns, forget them. Ser Otto is… he is a kind man to us mages. He is a considerate man. So take your self-pity to a place where is useful. It will serve no purpose here."

Solona could not comprehend what consideration had to do with her life dissolving all around her like some sadistic Fade nightmare. However, the undercurrent of protectiveness and defensiveness in Wynne's voice caused her to turn her head downward in shame.

"What must I do?" The question felt as if she were sealing her fate there in the darkness, so eerily similar to her arrival at the tower that it caused the fears of a much younger girl to raise to the forefront of her mind.

A cold, but firm hand clasped her shoulder in the darkness, and Solona jumped in fright before the pounding of blood in her ears subsided. Her heart dropped like a loadstone into the soles of her feet, and she felt herself being guided even as her feet stubbornly refused to cooperate with the rest of her numbed body.

"First you must come with me," Wynne stated cryptically, and it only caused Solona to close her eyes against the harshness of the light as they entered the hallway.

She felt the sets of hungry eyes, like fangs that pierced her tender flesh, as they marched through the hall. Suits of shined armor with human eyes watched her every move with carnal interest. The orbs of many colors appraised her from head to toe with an appreciation Solona hated to the very center of her being. _'Perhaps, if it is to be Ser Otto, at the very least I will never have to look him in the eyes,_' she soothed internally as the intimate stares of strange men laid her bare except for the reassuring presence of Wynne.

The young mage held up valiantly under the greedy and consuming gazes of men she hardly knew, and some she loathed for previous atrocities visited upon her kind. A man or two she could recall from their frequent visits to her tranquil brethren. They disgusted Solona on a level that nearly surpassed human capability. Yet, in spite of all this, she marched with her head held slightly high. Not so high that it brought about censure or anger from a Templar, and not so low that she could not see the way before her.

A shiver ran down her spine with icy tendrils that caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end in warning. Her hazel eyes flickered to sharpened features and the hungry look of a predator. Her feet nearly gave way beneath her as she maneuvered around Ser Carroll, whose eyes continued to bore into her with brutal savagery. Solona could still feel the lingering chill of his gauntlet as it had touched her chin. She could still smell the heady scent of polish and dried sweat that had permeated her nostrils at his closeness.

As if by some grace Wynne knew, she squeezed on Solona's shoulder once. And, the world came back with startling clarity and the surreal decision Solona had made rushed into her thoughts once more. She had given in, and given up hope of ever parting form this mortal coil unscathed. However, she was now locked into a war and an anguish of her own choosing. Solona ducked her head as fiery mortification swept through her cheeks and caused them to flush. Her fingers trembled and she clasped them into her slightly worn robes with regret and resolve.

It was now that she would share in a fate similar to other mages. It would be a constant struggle to appease and please for daily survival, all while being locked into a confined space with her very tormentors. However, she would cling to the lessons that Wynne would give her. She would not be a common whore, or even the best amongst the residents of the Circle to provide titillation of the flesh for the benefits that it could bring her. She would ply her body for protection, and if she were exceedingly lucky, and Maker willing, there would be very few men that ever shared her bed if she could start with Ser Otto agreeing to be her 'Protector'.

How she would accomplish such a feat, Solona was left uncertain and alone. However, Wynne had promised to show her how to find safety behind the unwanted touches and despicable copulations. The Senior Enchanter had promised to help her survive. For surviving was all Solona had left.

At fifteen, such a tender and young age, she arrived in front of Wynne's quarters with only desolation to keep her. When she left, Solona knew not what would happen.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thank you all for your reviews! I really appreciate all those that take a moment or two to leave a comment, critique, or a that-a-girl.**_

_**Rated M, I own nothing, and please enjoy! And just so you know, for those that read 'Life on the Run'… think of that Cullen mmkay? For those of you that haven't… oh, you'll see.**_

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Solona stared despondently at Wynne, who only looked passively on in spite of the severity of the situation. Though she was tempted to fidget or even to cast her eyes away, Solona found she could not in spite of her most harbored desires to. There was something equally compelling and terrifying about the wisdom shining in the older mage's eyes. The warmth that seemed to characteristic of Wynne, was absent and even her very coloring seemed akin to a painted portrait, not the woman Solona had come to greatly respect. In fact, it resounded deep within her thoughts, that Wynne seemed almost apathetic to the soul-searing goings-on of the tower.

It had only caused Solona to shudder like a leaf in autumn against the cruelty that such baseness could cause.

And, so she had listened with only half a mind but very little heart as Wynne poured over how to catch a man's interest. Solona had winced at such words as 'provocative' or 'skin' when used in conjunction with the 'needs' of a man for the thrill of the 'hunt'. There were moments where she had nodded dumbly for want of something to say against the tide of impending knowledge that crashed through her thoughts with vicious intent.

Wynne had spent many the next hour coaching and coaxing Solona into beguiling ways to sit. Her tutelage extended into the eight different methods a mage could employ to seem unaware while watching his or her intended interest behind a scroll or vellum sheet. And, while Solona had assumed that she had gleamed a great deal of knowledge about the inner workings of the Circle Tower, she had instead found herself speechless that the staggering amount of what she had not known.

There were codes of conduct to be followed in liaisons that seemed both frivolous and revolting. For instance, Solona had never known that a mage was never to be sought out on the month of her Harrowing or for three days after. She had implored Wynne for the answer as to why three was the number of days and no more. The answer had left a dissatisfied knot above the center of her heart. It had been three days for it a mage were to somehow carry a rift or a demon of the Veil, they could only hand onto a semblance of control for that specified length of time. Once the mage was proven to be free from Fade taint, they were considered as fair a game as any other in the Tower.

Whenever her reserves of patience had been tired, Wynne unsympathetically drew Solona down for another round of mannerisms generally accepted by the older Templars. Their preferences spun on the tips of Solona's mind like and refused to relent as her mouth fell open in unadulterated shock. Though her education had never been lacking in matters pertaining to sexual congress, she could not help but blush in maidenly virtue at the words which spewed forth from Wynne. Details that were simply too sickening to give over much thought to, finally forced Solona to stare at the floor once more. The silent, but self-deprecating, questions that rumbled through her thoughts like thunder caused the young mage to tear up once more.

"If you are sincere in your want to find some form of protection behind these walls," Wynne's cold gaze cut Solona to the quick, "then you must make haste. Word will spread through this Tower like wildfire that I have taken you under my wing."

Solona worked a cold lump of dread past her throat as her tongue fumbled to gain enough control to speak.

"Why would that change anything?" Her voice had been as raspy as fire crackling on a dry piece of wood.

Aged eyes set like hard stone on a face that was regal but had seen far too much in its lifetime, stared back at Solona with contempt.

"You must recall that I am among the best in the Tower… you did ask for me to teach you after all," her fingers curled mildly at her sides, as if the very acknowledgement burned a part of Wynne's heart into ashes.

Solona tilted her head in confusion. "I do not see-,"

"There are very few liberties I am allowed Solona. Contrary to what you believe, there are a great number of things I cannot do, nor assist with. One of them is teaching you past this night." Wynne had lifted her head in gracefully but with reservation. "A mage that has a protector, one who is owned as wholly as I, is not allowed to mingle with those images that are sought after only for quick exchanges of pleasure."

Solona was silent as she pondered the newest bit of information.

"Why are you not allowed? What reason could there be? You are the First Enchanter," she stated stubbornly, as if the title somehow would make the world right again.

Wynne bowed her head, the first show of defeat Solona had ever witnessed in the strong and charismatic woman.

"I am the First Enchanter, the inherited right of the Knight-Commander, subject to his whims and his ire at a moment's notice. When a mage has pushed the boundaries of the rules or his patience, it is my body that pays the price."

Solona dared not draw a single breath at the look of sheer sacrifice shining in the older mage's eyes.

"Do you not see? All I bare. All I deflect and charm only serves to save the lives of mages, like you, that do not understand the ways of the Ferelden… the ways of the world. "

"Then you take this risk…?"

"Because from the moment you set foot in this Tower, Solona, I have seen a part of myself in you." Wynne drew herself up to her full and imposing height, leaving Solona bereft of comfort or solace.

Then unceremoniously she was forced out into the bleak, stale, and cold reality of the Tower hallway.

OoOoOo

She stood outside the door like a lost kitten finding its way into a demon's den. Solona felt wholly unprepared and overwhelmed as she clutched the cold stone in-between equally chilled hands. If she still bore a pulse after this debacle ended, she would fall to her knees in her room and thank the very Maker for the modicum of mercy he had shown.

Yet, as painstaking as coming down to this area of the tower had been, despite the careful words of Wynne, Solona could not help but fear the upcoming meeting. She had tried to keep herself in the shadows as much as was possible without arising dangerous suspicion. In this tower of depravity, it was one thing to be stealthy with a dalliance, but to act in any way except the norm, could mean a death sentence for an unlucky mage. And, despite her best efforts to remain unnoticed, Solona had felt the eyes of the men as she passed. Though nothing about her physical appearance had truly changed, she could sense the change in the air like a hungry wolf stalking a lone doe through the densest patches of the forest.

However, it was her innocence, wrapped around her like a thin shield against their salacious gazes, which drew the men's attentions to her akin to a moth and a bright flame. The way her eyes lowered, a hint of coyness that was offset by coltishness. Her hair, lightly oiled with a touch of perfume to sweeten her already understandable appeal, caught the light of the nearby torches and playfully made the color dance. Solona had been forced to quell the ever rising urge to bolt at the first provocation, as that would gain her nothing, and in the grand scheme of things would serve only to cost her dearly.

Her soft hazel eyes glanced around the hall in nervous apprehension she had come to hold as dear to her bosom as a long lost friend. Though nothing of notable worth had been changed about her, it was her demeanor that conveyed the message of her newly resigned status in this twisted tower of oppression. She dipped her head once or perhaps twice, before she caught the subservient act and attempted to correct the action.

Wynne had been insistent that confidence would garner her the attentions of the one male which Solona so desperately needed. And while part of her, still lost to the staunch training of her bitter-sweet youth, instinctively knew to follow Wynne for she had never been led astray prior; the other part simply wished to hide away from the suggestive sneers and raunchy whisperings of the supposed pious swordsmen she left in her wake. Yet, even graver still, the precipice of her future seemed to hang to blithely on the shoulders of one that had not even reached her sixteenth summer.

'_And, oh, the stares_,' her mind chattered with overwrought feelings, '_Maker preserve me from the stares.'_ However, as was oft with the heavens, they remained silent to the heartfelt, and desperate, plea of one young mage-child. Solona licked her dry lips out of want for something to do as she stared, slightly agape, at the being at the end of her personal hall of horrors.

Ser Otto.

A gentle soul, Wynne had assured her with a quick reprimand and an armload of force. Solona swallowed a lump that tightened her throat to the point that even such a simple thing as drawing breath seemed an impossible feat. Her eyes traced the still-notable scars that lingered around his clouded and pale eyes. She cast her eyes down the length of his body out of genuine, but fretful, curiosity. Her mind, sharpened by knowledge gleamed at the expense of her other fellow mages, attempted with great effort to conjure the images of what Solona would be required to do in order to gain the older man's favor. Out of stark terror and resistance, she could see nothing that did not serve to terrify her further.

For a caged girl like Solona, her life had been reduced to the hard to swallow facts of her less than delicate fate. She would be expected to do some acts, that even the mention of turned her stomach into a nest of hatch dragons seeking freedom. And, if Solona had ever failed either in her magic instructions, or in obeying the rules of the tower which included the pleasuring of Templars, it would have been another that felt the blow. Therefore, she had always stove to be as quite as a mouse and just as invincible. Solona had diligently attempted not to leave so much as a bit of herself out in the daily transactions of flesh for amenities.

Now, her hand had been force, or more accurately, she had forced it to take the lesser of two evils into her. In the wee hours of the morning, while the fade eluded her as it was want to do when she was trouble, Solona could only have recalled the fiery determination she had once possessed to never give in. However, as she had been warned, time and life had ripped the wool from her innocent eyes with harshness not even the Black City possessed.

Her ears became dimly aware of the sound of a soled foot tapping along the stone floor of her lascivious prison. Her head turned downward to see that she had taken a step forward, toward Ser Otto, without realizing it. Solona felt her blood chill in her very veins as step, by slow and torturous step, she moved with a grace rarely held in on her age. It occurred to the young mage that she thought of nothing, for there truly was nothing more to consider. Now, the only option that remained in her trembling hands was to push forward into the waters she had previously refused to chart.

At her back, she felt the burning stare of Ser Carroll, and Solona tilted her chin slightly upward. It was a direct contrast to the way it trembled, and the tears that were gathering at corners of her eyes. For a single heartbeat, she spared a prayer of thanks to Wynne and the Maker for Ser Otto's blindness. It was her hope that what he could not see, would not count against her.

Her older features turned toward her as she neared, and Solona studied his face a moment longer under the soft glow of the firelight.

"Who goes there?" She was struck by the cultivated tone of his voice.

"I go, Ser Templar," Solona responded with a slight timidity to her words.

She watched his brow crinkle in slight confusion. And, instantly she comprehended that he was endeavoring to place her voice. Yet, Solona could not recall a time when they had spoken, but she was not forced to rely on the subtleties of a voice to see the world with.

"Forgive me," he replied pleasantly, with a touch of mirth that took away the worst of her fears, "I cannot seem to recall an individual named 'I'."

Solona flushed the color of red apples like those that grew in the village she once, so very long ago, called home. Her eyes darted downward once more, and she struggled to keep her limbs from trembling any more than they already were. Only a few moments into a conversation, her single chance to impress a male that could be her protector; another Templar that could keep her from the lecherous clutches of Ser Carroll, and she was already bumbling like a fool before him.

Despair and misery weighed hotly on her thoughts as she turned her attention back toward Ser Otto once more.

"I am sorry," she started with a nervous lit to her words, "I… I…"

She watched as Ser Otto's lips parted into a small, but indulgent smile. Her heart thundered in her ears as to what that expression might mean for her. She noted that he seemed cordial and even soothing when his eyes lightened the way they had toward her.

"Pray tell, who exactly is 'I'?"

"Why, I am me," Solona countered innocently, mired in awkward confusion.

Solona stood rooted to the spot, and indeed the very Maker could not have moved her, when Ser Otto let out a sharp bark of surprised, but amused, laughter.

"Indeed? Well then, 'me', what brings a lovely one like you down here?" The question was gentle, but firm and she swallowed tightly once more.

It had been on the tip of her tongue to response honestly, as mages were trained to do. However, something stopped her just shy of answering, and she thought back to Wynne's instruction with the greasy taste of defeat still lingering in her mouth. Quickly, she had wracked her mind for any plausible excuse, for as an apprentice she truly had no business to attend down in this area of the tower. And, to add more fuel to the growing fire of apprehension was that she could get into trouble for being in this area without reason.

"I thought you could not see? How can you tell that I am lovely?" She asked before she was able to stem the question that babbled forth like water in a summer stream.

His lips twitched in dry amusement. "Though my sight is gone, young one, I can still sense those that are evil or impure." His clouded eyes did not move, but Solona could tell that his attention was on her face. "And, I sense no such things from you. Now, I repeat, what brings you down here?"

"Well I…," her eyes darted back to his face and a single thought snapped firmly into place, "I am an apprentice creation mage, Ser. I have heard tales of what happened to your eyesight," her voice gained confidence as she wove the falsehood with small traces of the truth, "and, I was simply curious…"

His face did not harden as she had feared. In fact he looked vaguely intrigued by her frankness regarding the manner. Something that she would endeavor to thank Wynne for should this whole catastrophe of a first meeting salvage itself.

"As to the tale?" His voice held no malice, and Solona nearly flinched in relief.

"I-, yes, Ser," she had calmly, but with a pinch of shame, responded. "That is, if it does not trouble you over much to tell it, of course."

Solona watched Ser Otto blink his sightless eyes at her. And in a moment of whimsy she fancied that he could see straight through her lie to see the desperate mageling hoping for a way out of a life of sexual bondage.

"There is not too much to tell," He started easily, and his stance shifted into a more relaxed posture, "I was on the hunt for a maleficarum when a well-placed fire spell took it from me."

She stared at his blasé fair attitude toward the loss of a most crucial sense. A pang of sympathy, or perhaps pity, lodged firmly in her breast for this man who had lost something so dear in the effort to stop one of her kind that had turned against the people of Thedas. Even though he was close to thrice her age, and his facial scars could have been deemed unpleasant, it struck Solona that he was an amicable enough soul.

"And it never returned?" Her voice sounded softer and saddened to her own ears.

"Nay, little mage, it never returned," his expression was humbled but juxtaposed by the glint of hope in his clouded eyes.

"Surely you-"

"Apprentice Mages are not permitted within this hall without proper supervision or official circle business," Solona's head snapped up to the scowling visage of a much younger Templar. His face was partial obscured by the helmet he wore, and she pondered how she had not heard him approach.

Her lips parted as she floundered for a suitable excuse to pardon her transgression.

The amber eyes of the interloper stared her down as if she were some animal that had disobeyed the most simple of commands.

"Calm yourself lad," Ser Otto interrupted and Solona shot him a look of gratitude she belatedly realized he could not see, "this mage and I were making 'arrangements' is that not correct, apprentice?"

Solona leapt upon his excuse with the tenacity of a woman drowning in a maelstrom of possible punishments. Which, were it not for the aged Templar's quick thinking, she would have been. Her head lowered and she all but mumbled the words, as the implication of what Ser Otto had said caused her cheeks to flush brightly.

"It is as he says, Ser," she could not bring herself to look up into the condemning eyes of the younger male. However, she caught the stiffening of his posture, and held her breath slightly as he leaned in closer toward her. Solona felt as if the warmth radiating from her cheeks could be tangibly felt by both men.

Her hazel eyes swung upward out of reflex at his nearness and she could not have stopped them from widening. His face looked nearly thunderous, and Solona felt her knees quake under her robes at the expression.

"I think your 'arrangement' is done here _mage," _the man hissed eloquently and Solona nodded numbly at his meaning.

"Yes Ser, I will leave." Her words were flawlessly polite, but her timid gaze traced the outline of his face with all the innocence of a frightened child. Which, in truth, was all Solona actually had been.

"Forgive Ser Cullen, lovely," Ser Otto interjected charmingly, "He is new to the tower and our ways."

Solona bowed her head in shame as the words sunk into the pit of her stomach. She felt filthy for even attempting the nothing she had tried. Her pitiful attempt had mounted into nothing but perhaps owing Ser Otto for his 'generosity'. Morosely she kept her eyes to the cold floor, which could not judge the strumpet she had become.

"I bid you a good evening apprentice…?"

"Amell," she whispered in the same resigned but frightened voice she had held upon being brought low on her belly before the Knight-Commander for the very first time. "I am apprentice Amell."

"Then, until we meet again lovely Amell," Ser Otto said cheerfully, and Solona turned back down the hall with nothing but shame and wounded pride to guide her. And, for a single instant she allows herself to despise the pompous younger Templar and his misplaced chastisement. Solona decides, quite firmly, that she would have nothing to do with Ser Cullen even upon pain of death.

"Must you be so hard on them?" the voice sounded like Ser Otto, and Solona quickened her pace to flee whatever words would follow to haunt her ears.

"Must you coddle them so?" Solona flinched at the rebuke made by the younger Templar and was keenly aware of her heart freezing in her chest.

And, she was also aware of the unwelcome sensation of one set of amber orbs staring after her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to my reviewers! I can't help but wonder if I need to make this darker somehow, or if the level of hopelessness is right on target… hm.**

**Anyway, I own nothing, Rated M. Please Review if you can.**

OoOoOo

Solona licked her lips nervously. She stole another glance behind her shoulder, some small part of her was keenly aware that she was being followed. Her hazel eyes glanced about the cold gray stone walls with slight worry and a small twinge of fear. Her thoughts had been driven to harsher tones as she reviewed her brief conversation with Ser Otto.

She had been certain that her chances of securing a protector had been thoroughly dashed. However, her all together innocent exchange of words had brought about a new form of cruel punishment in the form of her own personal sword of Damocles hanging above her head, waiting for just the right moment to fall. The Templars had been whispering to one another, and Solona felt an ineffectual rage for she assumed Ser Cullen to be at its heart.

Though she had no proof, nor even knew what precisely had been whispered between the men as their beady eyes watched her with renewed interest, Solona felt that the pieces fitted together suitably to blame the stern male. Unfortunately, and much to her dismay, Ser Carroll was among the ones whose eyes undressed her unabashedly as she tried to skitter through the halls. Ser Carroll had become more than a concern to Solona and closer to a clear threat. His eyes traced her youthful figure with a hunger she had only ever seen when he had touched her that one night in the apprentice quarters.

Ser Otto had not sought her out for repayment of his kindness, and Solona felt her stomach tighten in a mess of confusion. It was out of character from her observations that he had not come to collect upon some imagined debt. She knew not what to make of such an uncertainty as the aged Templar she had never known before a few nights past.

Her feet had led her through her musings to the library. The Library had become a common gathering for all those who had heavy burdens upon their thoughts. Solona had always drawn some sort of solace from the books too numerous to count, and the soft smell of melted wax from the taper candles. Her hair had tumbled from its loose bun, as she had far too distracted this morning to see to it properly. The echoing of birds' songs, though greatly diminished through the thick panels of glass, played softly as she neared window on the far side of the library.

Once more, she turned to glance over her shoulder. Solona ignored the inquisitive glances of some of her fellow apprentices. She felt as if she could see the innocence of some weave around them like warm winter robes, one she would willingly be shedding out of the very human instinct of self-preservation. Others, and perhaps it had been her wild imaginings, but they seemed to hold the same look of defeat that she was certain was etched on her own features.

It had concerned her deeply that she had not seen Wynne since their last, perception-altering, talk. She worried her bottom lip, and glanced sadly up at the thick pane of colored glass. Solona watched as it caught and played with the Sun's glorious light. And, not for the first time, she remembered what the feel of sunlight was. She longed to feel the breeze as it rushed impatiently past the resistance her body offered. As she gazed at the red hue of one particular panel, she wondered how Wynne was once more. Her timid inquires, had been roughly brushed aside. No Templar would tell her so much as a snippet of information without a price. And, though Solona longed to know what had become of the almost unnaturally patient woman, she dared not exacerbate the situation.

Solona had asked the harrowed mages of Wynne, and they too had brushed her off for either studies or duties. The young mage had found herself with pent up frustration, helplessness, and anger to add to the already hefty burden of her emotions. However, it made no difference if she raged or kept quiet. In truth, acting out would only cause her to be punished, and with the recent lustful stares of the men she feared, she would be twice the fool to try.

She gave a soft sigh and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. For a moment she lost herself in the muted song of the birds she had to strain to hear. Absent mindedly, she played with the loops of her belt, trying to ponder out the next course of action, and if she should even continue to take to heart Wynne's tutelage.

"I hope you're not getting any ideas," a leering timber grated across her ears, "Apprentice Amell."

Solona jumped slightly. Her heart rushed into her throat and beat a furious pace at the sudden excitement. She tried to tamper down the fright she felt at his closeness. She had not noticed him approaching, not heard the clink of metal upon metal for her childish whim to listen to the outside world once more.

"Greetings Ser Carroll," she replied unsteadily as she averted her eyes from him. Solona attempted to try and locate the others in the library through sound. But, she noted with dismay that it had quieted considerably.

His mouth widened, she glanced up at the movement, like a mabari that had just been handed a tasty veal bone. Her thoughts had begun to trip over themselves as she fought to make sure that nothing she said or did would offend him. Her necessity-forced changed status would leave her vulnerable to the vile men such as Ser Carroll.

"You're looking in much better health today," he commented off handedly as his body crept closer toward hers.

Solona froze, her very breath stilled in her chest. She wracked her brain for any illness she might have had, and singled in on their last conversation. The one that had made her mental resistance break and caused her to seek out Wynne in the first place.

The mage bit her bottom lip and she wished she were any place, even a demon's belly, than deal with the bestial male in front of her.

"I thank you, Ser," she stated softly, willing herself to be neutrally polite, "for such a compliment."

Carroll chuckled in the back of his throat, and Solona held no illusions that he did not enjoy her forced submission to his position. The sound nearly made Solona flinch at the seediness it portrayed. Yet, she dared not turn her head away from him, and she dared not try to leave.

"You're quite welcome, Amell," he continued and she once more noted his subtle hinting by the removal of her formal title.

She said nothing as she waited, poised on the verge of fleeing from him as if the hands of demons were clutching at her.

"I have heard an interesting tale," he stated jovially, as if her silence did not affect him in any way.

"Have you Ser?" Her response had been what she knew he expected. What she knew was expected of her.

"Indeed I have. Imagine my surprise to hear that Amell, _my _Amell," he emphasized with great exaggeration, and she could not suppress that shiver of disgust that coursed down her spine. She knew that is not what Ser Carroll would interpret it as. "Had finally come to her senses and decided to bypass that silly little age rule."

She blinked in surprise as he traced one metal clad finger down her cheek. Solona glanced from side to side, praying for someone to interrupt their strangely private moment. However, she knew deep in her stomach that he had most likely commanded the others to leave the library in order to get her alone. She swallowed once, out of fear as his intense eyes danced at her with his obvious want.

Solona said nothing.

"And, at first, I admit… I did not believe it. However, I saw with my own eyes, a certain little apprentice attempting to make 'arrangements' with that old man Otto." His anger showed clearly in the tense line of his jaw.

Solona took a reflexive step backward, should this turn uglier than it already was.

He watched her, and she felt very much like a mouse corned by a _very_ hungry cat. "I never knew you to be foolish Amell," the threat lay clearly between them, "and, while there is technically nothing I can do to you now. The second," his face drew near toward hers and she flinched, "the exact second I find out you are no longer protected, you will know who owns you."

Her breaths came out in quick bursts. His voice caused her stomach to heave and her mouth to dry.

His dark eyes stared at her with promises of a fate worse than death, as he traced his gauntleted finger down her face once more. His nose came to her hair, and he inhale deeply. Solona squeaked out in fright.

"You will never go to Ser Otto again," his other hand grasped her wrist in an unforgiving hold, "do you understand me?"

Solona flinched as his grip tightened, she knew that should he wish it, her wrist would snap like a dry fall twig. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

"Ser Carroll, you are hurting-!" she whimpered in protest.

"Say it," he commanded with a frightening expression. "Say you will never speak to him again."

"I-," her lips trembled as she could not force the words out fast enough.

"Ser Carroll?" A commanding voice called form behind her tormentor, and Solona jerked in surprise.

His hand dropped from her wrist in an instant, and she nearly wept with relief.

"I was just speaking with this apprentice," Ser Carroll stated defensively.

She couldn't help but snap her gaze up to meet those dreadful amber eyes, so accusing and focused as they stared into hers once more. Solona felt naked, bared before his angry, but pious, stare. It unnerved her more than any other Templar she had ever had the misfortune of meeting.

She watched as he arched a brow in obvious distaste at her. Shame, and humiliation burned at her cheeks staining them as red as the glass she had so foolishly stopped to admire.

"It seems this mage is _quite popular_," the scorn in his voice rose to match the disgust in his eyes.

Ser Carroll stiffened by her side. Solona had to bite back on her tongue to keep from crying out at the unfairness of his accusation. But as a mage no one would hear, or even care. She longed to flee, or to clear her name. To declare that Carroll's attentions were entirely unwanted. Solona lowered her gaze away from Ser Cullen and allowed the spark of dislike for him to be flamed into a full fire of loathing.

'_He knows nothing,_' her mind lashed out in force, '_nothing of what I must do, what all mages must do. He knows nothing of the subjugation. Nothing of our plight or the Maker's unfairness.'_ She knew she should not have, ever fiber in her being screamed out against it. That small voice that warned of dangers screamed the loudest as Solona snapped her hazel eyes to his amber ones.

Despite knowing it was sheer folly, she met Ser Cullen's gaze with the passionate fury blazing in her eyes. She felt the magic bleed into her stare, like a paper cut achieved from pouring over ancient scrolls. It was sluggish but the song of her enchantment swirled within her. She ignored the renewed look of lust thrust upon her by Ser Carroll. Solona had not broken any rules; she had not called upon her magic to do harm or even to leave her body. However, as it swirled within her eyes and the pale green light cascaded behind her hazel irises she had made her dislike of Ser Cullen known.

And she knew, the instant she had started that is was foolhardy, so very imbecilic on her part. For there was little that conveyed her worth quite so much as a display of power, and to do so in front of the reason for her torment was rash at best.

Mages were in essence breeding tools for the chantry, and most were female with very few exceptions just as Wynne had told her all those years ago. The Chantry had allowed Templars to impregnate and even marry mages for centuries uncounted in an effort to ensure that should battle ever be waged; the country would have a mage army at its disposal. An army that could nearly always be replenished as quickly as the men could be amorous. This left the mages to mourn the loss of their children as they were ripped from their arms to be raised by the very same Chantry that forced their making.

Solona fought not to picture her dear friend Beth's face. She had been witness to such an even personally. Her mind still held the tortured cries of her fellow mage as she pleaded for the chance to hold her daughter, just once. However, Solona knew, as did Beth, that the girl might only see her mother again if she were a mage. And, what sort of mother would wish for such a fate?

Mages were weapons, and Solona knew this all too well. They were livestock at times and bedmates at others. It was never openly stated, but commonly seen that Templars tended to try and help the Chantry create more of the strongest mages. It was perverse and all together terrifying, but it was all Solona had ever come to know. And her one stare, allowing her magic to show so blatantly, reminded all present that she was a commodity, a tool for the using.

Ser Cullen's eyes narrowed at her, and his hardened features betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

"I would be very careful mage," he stated flatly, not even perturbed enough to put displeasure into the words, "not to make an enemy you cannot handle."

Solona's eyes widened at his words as his threat struck home. She could not afford to create such an enemy. She was not even harrowed, and should she anger a Templar too much, would never make it out of a harrowing chamber. With her better sense flowing freely through her thoughts, she looked away. She was horrified at her lack of control, and petrified at what sort of impact it might have upon her in the future.

He appeared satisfied at her reconsideration, and she felt his eyes on her once more. "You'd do best to save your 'talents' for those that have need of them," he scolded harshly, and the dismissal laced his words plainly.

Solona closed her eyes to suppress her cursed magic. She pulled in a deep breath of air that suddenly seemed far too thin.

"And, Ser Carroll," Cullen stated archly, "you have rounds to attend to. You can come back to your mage-flesh later." He spat the sentence out as if it tainted him to think of such a thing. Solona felt her throat tighten at his words.

Solona heard the sickening, and mocking, laugh that flowed from Carroll's lips with ease. She hated this violation of her character. However, she was powerless to speak in her defense.

Carroll touched her face with a gloved hand, and she fought not to pull away from the touch again. She had learned from her time in this cesspool of forced prostitution, that there were consequences for even the tiniest of freedoms.

"Hear that Amell?," he leered near her ear, "I'll be back for you when my rounds are over."

She felt her skin crawl with revulsion. Her eyes slid closed in defeat and heartbreak. She felt her skin pale at his words, as the blood rushed away from any area he touched.

When she opened them again, a set of hard, but confused amber eyes met hers. And, once more, Solona looked away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey, thank you for your amazing reviews! It gave me the writing bug for this story. My brain caught this idea and I had to run with it.**

**I own nothing, Rated M, and I don't write under aged stuff so there will be a very clear indication something has happened, but nothing in detail until later in the story. Mmkay? **

**And, Happy Thanksgiving. Gobble gobble.**

OoOoOo

Solona fled from the library just as fast as her legs allowed. She dodged the questioning looks of her fellow mages, and made sure not to disturb a single Templar. Her mind and heart were completely intertwined in a single-minded mission to find Ser Otto. Solona clasped a hold of his image like a drowning woman to a lifesaving branch.

In her thoughts she cursed Ser Carroll and that horrid Ser Cullen for their equal parts in her torment. Solona stumbled, her feet catching on an uneven stone, and she fumbled to regain her balance. Her loose hair swung in front of her eyes in the jerking movement to regain herself. Solona trembled as the world righted itself, and her disorientation cleared.

She clutched at the nearest wall and took several gasping breaths. A Templar in the corner watched her with acute interest, and for once, it was not in a leering manner. This unknown male's interest had been piqued because of her seemingly odd behavior. Solona quickly smoothed her hair back, and fought the veritable tidal wave a nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.

She understood that there was so little time until Ser Carroll's rounds were over.

He had been correct, though she loathed admitting it. There was nothing he could do to her yet. However, Ser Carroll would not have been the first Templar to take first and make claims that she was consenting later. While rape was strictly forbidden, it had occurred to mages in the past. Solona clenched her teeth to fight back the images that swirled through her thoughts of what would occur should Ser Carroll get her alone in private once more.

And, she felt indignation and fury at the thought of the other Templar, Ser Cullen. She had been startled by how much she had wanted to make him understand that she had not voluntarily been alone with that weasel Carroll. Solona's heart lurched in her chest at the thought of having to submit to any man like him.

Worry tinged the edge of her being when she started forward once more, in a desperate pilgrimage for Ser Otto. Wynne's parting words floated through her, rattling the younger mage to the core. She had still not heard from Wynne, and her concern had only grown ten-fold with the new developments of the past few candle marks.

Solona flittered across the tower attempting not to be seen sneaking into the forbidden area for apprentice mages. The last time she had been thoroughly humiliated by the amber-eyed devil called Ser Cullen. Her shame from earlier had not dissipated as she took a cautious glance down the corridor. There were three Templars, one of which was Ser Otto. This caused her to feel a rush of hope before she mercilessly squashed it back down.

Her hazel eyes watched as they chattered for a few minutes. She continuously stole glances to make sure that no one with deft enough feet could sneak up behind her. Her knees were shaking so violently, that Solona was forced to crouch a time or two as she waited, in silent vigil, for Ser Otto to be free.

'_The blessings of patience are boundless'_, she conceded, as after what seemed like an eternity in the fade, the other Templars left behind the door Ser Otto was guarding.

As quickly, but as quietly as she could, Solona moved from her hiding spot near the stairs. Her hair tickled the front of her face, and she took a breath to puff it softly out of the way.

"Who goes?"

Solona flinched at the booming note in Ser Otto's voice, and her nervousness returned in full force. However the thought of Ser Carroll pushed her determination to new heights.

"Apprentice Amell," she replied timidly.

The effect was immediate as his face softened from threat to confused indulgence. "Ah-ha! Lovely Amell, you know you should not be down here."

She took a hesitant step forward. "Yes, Ser, I do know that," her eyes trained downward though she knew him to be sightless. "However, there is something I must discuss with you."

His figures shifted slightly. "Is that so?"

"Yes… Ser," she nearly whispered as her hands shook.

She stood tall, but wholly still as the words tried to form in her mind.

"I do not have all day," he interjected with a slight note of irritation in his voice. Solona winced in concern that they had already gotten off on the wrong foot.

"Ser, Otto," she stated openly, "I would like to request… that you become my protector." The nearly childish quality of her voice carried the weight of her words.

When he threw back his head and laughed, she heard nothing save the pounding of her heart in her ears.

"Of all the things I was expecting," he stated in mirth, "that was not one of them. However, to address your request, there is great risk involved for a Templar of my standing to take on a mage lover," he informed her quickly, "and quite frankly, I have no desire for you Apprentice Amell."

Shock spread through her far quicker than any heal spell she had ever learned. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of crushed plans and foolish ideals. Desperation crept in along her every thought. Ser Otto was the option, the _only_ option other than death, which Solona had. She couldn't stem the flurry of '_He has to help me. He just __**has **__to!'_

Unruly fingers gripped at his sash in a fit of anguish at his cruel and biting words.

"I will be as suitable as any other mage," she cajoled without preamble.

"That is true," he conceded blandly, "however, if you are as suitable as any other, then I should choose one that suits me. And, there is nothing to say that I am looking for a lover currently."

She wracked her taxed brain for some sort of reply that would make him understand.

"Once you know me-"

"I have no interest in knowing you Apprentice Amell," he snapped harshly, "the charity I did you of keeping you from punishment, never carried the intention for you to seek me out! And, I dislike your attempts to snare me as your Protector. I have not had such an arrangement for a number of years, and I have no intention of starting now!"

"Please, Ser Otto, I entreat you-"

"Be gone before I inform the Knight-Commander of your disrespectful behavior," he commanded the threat as he turned to leave.

"Please," Solona begged in earnest, her knees hitting the hard stone floor with enough force to make her wince. Her head bowed in defeat and she dared not even begin to hope that Ser Otto would reconsider, but it burned at her soul not to try.

"Wynne said you were kind to mages," She whispered brokenly as tears fell on the stone in front of her.

It was then, as her plea echoed in her ears, that she heard the clinking of armor, the swift change in direction as he turned back to face her. In her sorrow, drowning in a sea of horrors yet to come, Solona could not comprehend what life there would be without Ser Otto's help.

"Wynne?" Solona peaked up at him through wet eyelashes and caught the look of tenderness combined with confusion that flashed across his features.

She nodded, even though he could not see the gesture. "Yes," she replied in the same humbled whisper, "she told me to seek you out."

Solona returned her gaze to the floor, downcast and down trod. Weary of the world and lost beyond all hope, she cried the silent pain of her kindred. The lament of the mage-born that had no control over the Maker's plan for them, but suffered greater than any other she had ever heard tale of.

She kept her eyes downcast as his metal-clad feet neared her. Each step seemed like the loud crash of thunder in the deafening silence between them, as she knelt without reservation on the floor. She had come to an incredibly hard decision to subjugate herself than have it forced upon her by the likes of Ser Carroll.

"If that is the case," she jolted as his words whipped across her like fire, "then I am willing to reconsider your offer, and my part in it."

Solona had thought she would have felt satisfaction, or perhaps even relief. However, she only felt the numbness of resignation and misery as it pumped through her veins. She knew herself to be so thoroughly entrenched in the ways of the tower now, that all the girlish whimsies of being able to resist the debauchery made her loath the person she was to become.

She would be safe from Ser Carroll, but only at the cost of selling herself.

She said nothing as the elder Templar stared down at her with sightless eyes. Unable to move, let alone speak, she waited for the details of her fate. It was the right of the protector to outline all he expected from his mage bed warmer. Solona would gain his protection, far greater than anything else she could ever hope to garner in the tower. And in exchange, he held every freedom of her life I his hands. Her body was forfeit to his desires, his wishes, and wants. Solona fought back the urge to cry anew.

"I take your silence as consent apprentice Amell," he continued on in a slightly more considerate tone. "I am sure you know the basics of what is expected of you?"

She had always understood, and loathed it with all of her being.

He was merciful enough to spare her from response, she granted him that much. "You are to behave impeccably at all times. You shall be a shining example of how a Circle mage should behave. If I hear of another occurrence where you have been anything less than absolutely polite to another Templar, our association will be terminated. Do not think for even an instant that I shall hesitate to throw you back in with the lot of them."

She heard, for she had not intended to look, the note of acceptance to his words. Solona felt as if she had become one with the very stone, nothing more than another decorative ornament of the Circle tower.

"As you are not as experienced as others, our… activates shall be restricted to one instance," his tone gentled further still but the undercurrent of authority was plain to hear, "it is to make my status as your protector unchallengeable. When three months' time has passed, I shall expect further compensation for my protection. Now, as you know I cannot force you, for I find such a thing despicable. However, if you should refuse me more than I find acceptable, I hold the right to change my mind."

She felt wretched. Solona thought herself to be the vilest sort of being as she took a soft breath to ease back her distress. Ser Otto had not demanded anything unusual; in fact, he had been quite generous to allow her time to become accustomed to her lot as his property. It was a kindness she had not been aware even existed. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to Wynne and the Maker.

"Now, I think that covers most of what I expect from you for now. Therefore, I shall go see the Knight-Commander and take care of the necessary arrangements," he stated casually, as if they had been talking about the weather and not the use of her body.

Solona heard his footfalls as he left, still unable to bring herself to look at his retreating figure. As soon as his steps faded, she could hold back the damn of her emotions no longer. With a keening wail, similar to a creature in great pain, she began to sob uncontrollably. Her tears wet the stone floor in front of her knees, but she took no notice.

She cried for the loss of her childish hopes. She cried for the life she would never lead. And, she cried for herself, because there was nothing else to be done. Solona Amell was little more than chattel, bought and paid for.

OoOoOo

Solona did not say a single word as the elder mages washed and combed her hair. Wynne had been discreet, but unable to attend to Solona herself. The Senior Enchanter had sent her approval via Petra, who stroked Solona's hand in a placating manner. However, Solona could not help but stare mutely at the older woman. Petra consoled her in such a way that it conveyed understanding. However, to Solona, it looked for the entire world as if they were preparing her for a funeral.

The perfumed oils and salves they used on her skin were meant to make her feel privileged. However, they only made her cold inside. Her exhausted hazel eyes watched the vials and glass bottles with a sense of sorrow so intense Solona could only breathe past the pain.

She did not weep when they styled the damp locks of her hair in a fashion that displayed her new status. It was a visual warning to all other Templars that Solona had a Protector. It was nothing ornate, or even that astounding. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and then braided. Braids were only allowed to those that were taken.

She listened, but never commented, on the advice from the other women on how best to please Ser Otto. Her ears attempted futilely to rebel against the words, however she heard each one with stark clarity. She did not grimace, or wince when the whispers spread everywhere she passed in the tower.

Solona went through the morning, as one goes through the motions of life. Her brightness and vitality were buried somewhere deep inside her, but she would not allow them to surface this day. She kept to herself almost entirely, and only spoke when spoken to. She refused to feel the hot stare of fury from Ser Carroll as he watched her every movement. The tiniest flickers of satisfaction at his impotent rage shone through the despondency that radiated throughout her.

Her face matched that of the paintings of old. She was pretty, but showed no joy or warmth. Wynne looked upon her with understanding and pity. Solona tried not to ponder which reason she despised more. She went through her duties with perfection in mind. She knew she had done so much to gain Ser Otto's hesitant consent that she dare not jeopardize it for anything; Even her own considerable desolation.

When the last of the daylight had faded, Solona found herself drawn once more to the Library. She glanced at the room around her, fully seeing the gilded cage it actually was. She traced the spine of a well-worn, but unknown, book. Her pain and fond memories reflected in her eyes. With the last bit of dignity she retained, the small speck they could not take from her, Solona left with her head held high.

Solona did not hesitate when she sought out Ser Otto. Nor did she flinch from his touch as he led her back to his room, more secluded than others due to the length of time of his service. She was grateful for the silence between them, and the lack of emotion in his face as he undressed. She laid down where he instructed and took a small breath to steady herself. He took as much care as could have been expected not to harm her. Solona shut her eyes and tried take her mind away from the situation.

She returned to her rooms, slightly disheveled and unable to gaze at herself in the mirror. Disgust and shame tore her inside to heights she had never previously known. Her hands shook as she bathed herself for bed, long after the other apprentices had already entered the fade. Her mind was strangely subdued as she dressed herself for sleep.

And, when she lay down, only then did she allow herself to weep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you for those that have reviewed/followed/favorite! Also to address a very good question posed to me in regard to this story, No. Solona will not progress out of the tower. This is an alternate universe story that is without the Blight, but not the Grey Warden order. Now, all of this sexual slavery does/will come to a head and serves a purpose. While Solona does not leave the tower, she will change it and depending on how my writing unfolds, may still change the face of Ferelden. **

**However, I do realize that some of these concepts are extremely dark. I do state that as a caution and also understand that many may not be comfortable reading this. For that I am sorry, but please understand that I have this story planned out in my head and I was a little tired of the 'traditional' CullenxAmell plot lines. Not that there is anything wrong with them, I just thought variety is the spice of life and all.**

**Rated M. I do not own characters, Bioware does. Please enjoy!**

OoOoOo

Solona had spent the last three years as the consort and bedmate of Ser Otto. Though Wynne had been correct that he was indeed kind to her kind, it had become obvious to Solona that he had only accepted her because of the First-Enchanter. It was a fact that had stung for some time during the beginning of their arrangement. It was from the lips of her mentor that she had learned of the special attachment between Wynne and Ser Otto.

In her youth, Solona had been told, Wynne was a vivacious woman with a zest for life. Though Solona could scarcely believe anyone could look forward to existence in this nefarious Circle, she took Petra's word for the events that had unfolded.

Wynne had chanced upon a young and seeing Ser Otto one day. The pair, it was told to her in great detail, had nearly instantly become enamored with one another. It had come as no surprise to the inhabitants when Ser Otto had petitioned for Wynne to be his. Their union had given many in the Tower the futile hope that perhaps not all had been lost between the two worlds.

However, tragedy struck shortly after the First Enchanter at the time fell ill. No amount of healing could cure him from the unknown malady. Many times the halls had echoed with the whispers of poison and murder, no culprit had ever been pinned down. Still times had been wonderful for Wynne then, with her eyes cast in a starry hue of a woman truly in love. Upon the death of Wynne's predecessor however, it was declared that Wynne would take his place.

In the span of a moment, she had gone from belonging to Ser Otto to the Knight-Commander. A mage could not refuse such a position, it was not allowed. Solona had felt a large swell of pity for the woman Wynne must have been prior to being changed to a man she did not love. It was a slight from the Maker himself it seemed, when Wynne discovered she was with child. Petra had been forced to stop the tale in the middle of its telling to dab away tears of sorrow.

The child had been fathered by Ser Otto. There had never been a doubt about it, and Wynne being a healer had known easily who had given her such a precious life. However, because it belonged to her former Protector, the Knight-Commander had given the order for the child to be taken from Wynne after its birth.

Petra confided in a horrified Solona, that Wynne had not even been given a chance to hold her son before he was whisked away and she was forced to see to her own healing. It had been a reprimand from the Knight-Commander for an unintended insult of carrying another man's child. It had crossed Solona's mind that he had not ordered Wynne to rid herself of the babe before the birth, but Petra had corrected what Amell thought was an act of kindness. The Chantry forbade disposing of a pregnancy, as the child might become a powerful mage for their ever-expanding army of magic.

Not four years later, when the Knight-Commander and the Chantry had decided it was time for him to find a new post, another blow was struck. Ser Otto, who had been in-line for the promotion to Knight-Commander, was blinded by a demon's attack rendering him unfit for such a duty as per the Reverend Mother. Solona learned with a heavy heart, that Wynne had wept by his bedside as he recovered though she was punished harshly for it later.

Amell knew only fury when Petra had told her with whispers nearly too quiet to hear, that Wynne had been punished by Greagoir. It had been speculated by many a mage and Templar alike, that Greagoir had Wynne whipped because he and Ser Otto had both competed for her affections. However, Wynne's heart had gone to Ser Otto, something Solona could only assume Greagoir was unable or unwilling to forgive.

Yet, Greagoir had taken possession of Wynne in the end, and Solona feared a similar fate with Ser Carroll. The persistent man had not left behind his intrusive infatuation with Solona though she had belonged to Ser Otto these past three years. Everywhere she turned, he seemed to be watching her, waiting for a single slip so that he could snap up his opportunity to make her pay. It had only increased her fears when Wynne had proclaimed Solona as her star pupil and it would be only a matter of a few short years before the title of First-Enchanter would be handed over to her. Solona had spent many a night lying awake as thoughts of her future hell plagued her. Often such thoughts of what may be thrust upon her in the coming years went hand-in-hand with the nightmares of Ser Carroll.

His eyes had burned insanity and hatred ever since the day he had been informed, like every other one of his ilk, that Solona had a Protector. She bore no illusions he had not spent every day plotting how to punish her in the severest way possible. He was the reason she still feared the night, what demons could not do, Ser Carroll had done. Though her deepest sense of dislike and distrust was still reserved for the pernicious Ser Cullen, Solona had taken to heart the first rule of the Tower. The one she had tried so valiantly to ignore since the day her knees had first hit the gray stone of the tower floor. The only way to survive was to be careful, vigilant even, every moment of every day.

The overly proud girl she had been had become a woman seasoned by the ways of the tower and those that dwelt within its confines. Her coltish awkwardness had faded into a gentle grace. As per her arrangement with Ser Otto, Solona conducted herself in a manner beyond reproach. It was often commented upon by her fellow mages, that Solona acted almost regally. Her demeanor had irked many a Templar to no end. She had come to wield words with the sharpness no blade could compare with. And, much to their irritation, she was never rude or obtuse and therefore could not out-right be punished.

She had come into the same assurance that Wynne had. She understood that she would never leave this place, and to dream of such things was nothing more than a waste of time. The first night she had traded innocence for safety, Solona had long since given up petty daydreams. Some, such as the Mage Anders, still had such foolish notions. She fought to contain the bitterness that such idle thoughts produced.

Though she still cringed from her obligation to her benefactor, Solona submitted without protest. Ser Otto showed a kindness rarely given from a Templar. He seemed to wish their activities to be over as quickly as she had. She held only a mild form of affection for her Protector borne of trust and understanding that his heart still walked in the footsteps of the First-Enchanter.

Ser Otto had been her champion during the unforgettable trial of her Harrowing. Solona had been given the advantage that little her age possessed when entering into the chamber. She had been allowed not to worry over being prey to the lustful advances of men she had, according to the Chantry, the right to deny. Therefore, her mind had been focused solely on her task. Survival. Though death had flirted within her thoughts a time or two, she was unable to give her life over so freely as those that opted to die by demon as a means of escape.

It had been her Harrowing that had sealed her fate as Wynne's successor in truth. That day had been etched into Solona's mind for a number of reasons. The first being her confrontation with the demon Pride, only what seemed to be a scant few moments since she had been pulled bodily from her chamber by the harsh grip of Ser Carroll and Ser Bryant.

Solona had tripped and stumbled in a state of undress down the hall as her feet had struggled to keep pace with the Templars. Her hazel eyes had watered at the bruising strength they had used. She nearly laughed at the thought that they might have believed she would have run. There was nowhere to flee when one lived in a tower with nothing but armed guards all too eager to sever your head from your body.

Her eyes had locked, upon entering the rom which seemed notably chillier than her sleeping quarters, with Ser Otto. He was given the right to witness her harrowing and to be her protection as she was his property. However, Solona had also glimpsed the Templar to his right. Her ire had spiked to nearly painful levels at the sight of Ser Cullen. She was startled when another apprentice was unceremoniously dragged into the chamber before being dropped next to her. They had exchanged a quick and fearful glance. Solona had clamped her lips tightly closed as the First-Enchanter breezed into the chamber with her head held high.

"The time of your Harrowing has come Apprentice Amell, Apprentice Tans," Wynne had stated with formal authority.

Solona had trembled slightly from cold or from fear, she was uncertain. It was the moment every mage dreaded. The unknown held a powerful grip on the imagination of those that were to enter it.

"I am ready," Solona stated quietly with a small glance at Wynne. The barest hints of warmth still radiated out of the elder woman's eyes, yet Solona was not eased in the slightest.

She had been sucked into the fade; no other word was strong enough for the instant push into the realm of magic and dreams. Though her actual test had taken a great deal more thought than skill, Solona had mercifully, seem through the Pride demon's trap of wanting her to free it upon the mortal world. Had she fallen to its cunning, Solona would have been cut in twain.

Therefore, she had been startled when she had awoken from the fade by the shouts of Templars and the screams of other mages. Solona could only surmise that they had also been drug from their beds, the three other apprentices that shared a room with her at one point or another, for their harrowing while she had been in the midst of hers.

She had understood with stark clarity that Apprentice Tans had failed by the abomination that rushed toward her. Solona scrambled from the floor to stand. A strength rushed her limbs that she had not known she possessed, and the clash of metal against flesh brought her a tad from her hysteria. Though she was later unable to recall much, there had been a shout as the abomination ripped through the chest of a Templar. Solona vaguely heard the commands shouted by a male voice as she backed toward a wall. Her eyes were wide with fear and it coursed through her veins making her heart pound in her ears.

As quickly as it had started, it was over when a Templar managed to cut the thing that had been Tans in twain. Solona blinked at the carnage and blood all around her. The chamber had been foreboding enough before it had been tarnished by death. Hazily she looked about the room, her ears unhearing and eyes unfocused.

It was then that she realized there had been some who were wounded. Years under the kind tutelage of Wynne had spurred back to life, as her duty as a creation mage took hold over her senses. Solona started forward to offer healing and any other aid.

"Stay back _Mage,_" the detestable Ser Carroll hissed in disgust.

Fury, cold and yet hot at the same time, rushed within her. Indignation coupled with temper forced her to act in an imprudent manner.

"Command as you will _Templar_," Solona countered and watched with vicious satisfaction as surprise lit his features, "But either you save them, or Maker help you… get out of my way."

She watched outrage flit across his face before his features shuttered into an impenetrable mask. "You Dare-"

Solona understood she was in for a tongue lashing at the very least, and a harsh punishment or death at the worst. She knew Ser Carroll to be vindictive. She had heard him to be far more. Yet, emboldened by her brashness, she had brushed passed him as if he were an apprentice of little to no consequence.

The other Templars tensed, and the mages cowered in undisguised fear. Their terrified eyes watched her akin to abused animals waiting for another blow to fall upon them. Solona refused to acknowledge them, though they suffered as much as she had. There was no way to help them, no comfort to offer or smile to be given. Bile pooled in the back of her throat as she tried to stop her trembling from being visible to her hated captors.

Truthfully, she had not the knowledge of how to render aid. The sick feeling of helplessness ravaged her heart and mind. A cold sweat spanned her brow as she gazed upon the pallor of death draped over the face of a much beloved friend. The warmth of tears had little time to bolster the feeling of numbness and shock that knotted around her soul.

White hair stood prominent in her sight, and her magic rose to her emotional distress as she noted the unnatural stillness of the prone woman. Her hazel eyes snapped up to gaze at the gleam of horror in the eyes of the Knight-Commander. Solona fought the urge to be surprised that perhaps, despite his deplorable treatment of Mages as a whole, it was possible he had held some form of affection for Wynne.

Conscious thought had yet to form, before Solona was engulfed in the idea that being a creation mage could change this unspeakable outcome. No words could have passed her lips to give warning before she had closed her eyes in concentration.

Her thoughts flooded with images of Wynne. Moments of contentment, sadness, care, and smiling exploded within her mind. Solona heard the song of her magic as it had begun to awaken from its dormancy. She slowly opened her eyes to gaze at Wynne as the floor beneath her had been bathed in blue magic. Its glow cast the hopeless faces within the room into new light.

Amell panted with great exertion. The air around her shimmered with the song of her magic, dancing around her with joyful power that beckoned the widened eyes of every Templar present in awe. She was within her element, though previously unknown. Magic poured from every inch of her. With righteous fury tempered with deep concern she pulled hard on her gift demanding more of it than she ever had before.

It rose in a large wave to greet its mistress. The Templars stilled at the show of power. Their nerves frayed by the perilous scene they had just witnessed. Ser Otto, Amell sensed his attention on her. His warning still rung clearly in her head, yet she would not yield. She was risking all at the she had worked for, all she had forced herself to submit to. However, a keen sense of loyalty and fondness drove her onward despite the danger she was flirting with. The magic swirled around the prone form of Wynne with the urgency of a child coming to a mother's defense.

Solona felt her skin prickle as the magic threatened to overwhelm her. She held on through sheer will and determination. In short, she simply refused to believe the Templars' poisonous lie that Wynne had _died_. '_No,'_ she thought in a panic, '_Wynne is not gone. She has not gone where I cannot reach her.'_ She was tampering with things she knew naught, but still she persisted for Wynne. For one of only a handful of people that had ever cared for a lone female mage tossed into the proverbial lion's den.

Her hazel eyes had clouded over with magic she fought every second to control. Solona pushed, her mind filled only with the goal of grabbing a shred of Wynne's faded magic. Her magic pushed, pulled, jerked, clung, and finally settled over her target. She gasped as her magic jolted against _something_, Solona could only subconsciously process as being wholly Wynne.

Lost in the song of her magic, Solona was not able to register that Wynne began to cough, lungs drawing greedily at air. Nor, had she comprehend that her magic had bled into more than one person. The unnamed Templar who had fallen as a casualty directly before the mage, began to gasp for life's breath as uncounted sets of Templar eyes widened in her direction.

The light of the world was fading fast for Amell. Her magic drained too fast, in amounts too large for her to quell. Her mind cried out for her to stop, but another part of her refused. Instinct of something she could not begin to quantify urged her not to cease just yet. Instinct warned her that this moment was pivotal.

She pressed her magic harder, the song growing to deafening proportions around them all. The strain became nearly unbearable and she was forced to cry out. The coughing and sputtering had quieted from those she had saved from the brink of lasting death. The song of Wynne's magic rushed against hers and relief swept Amell for only a moment. Panic, fear, and self-preservation soon had pushed the comforting sensation past the point of no-return. Solona fell to her knees, unable to stem the force of her magic.

"Smite me!" Her howl of alarm reverberated off the cold gray stone with a small note of anguish. Several torturous moments flickered passed her clouded eyes. Shame tore through her thoughts. She had been reduced to asking for assistance from those she despised. However, her panic and fear of the unknown blinded her to any other options; and so she clung to the known even if it was hated.

She could sense the unease around her, as her magic spread wildly throughout the room. It ravaged the cracks in the corners, and battered against the novice mages. Their whimpers of protest and apprehension could not penetrate the song of her magic. Solona understood the Templars were wary of this display of unknown magical potential, and from the previous threat. However, her distaste for Templars was only heightened as she was forced to endure this uncontrollable torrent of her song due to their inaction.

Her head snapped to the nearest silver blurred shape. These walking statues without mercy or compassion had one singular duty, and they were failing. Solona had gritted her teeth against a bone-jarring pulse in her talent.

"Damn you, smite me!" She had the heady sense of foreboding. She was doomed already, she understood with a chilling certainty.

The clinking of armor was her only warning before the world nearly turned upside-down as her magic was brutally stripped from her. The Templar's energy was a violation unto itself. Her magic recoiled before it was forcefully taken. '_This pain_,' she thought vaguely, '_This pain is paltry by comparison.'_ A mild sense of contempt filled her few conscious thoughts.

Her ears registered the absolute bliss of silence for a heartbeat. She swayed with the turning of the tower beneath her knees. She narrowed her eyes against the dying light as blackness had begun to overtake her.

Amber eyes caught hers as Solona had crumpled into a heap upon the unforgiving cold stone floor.

When she had come to, it was the light that caused her to wince and not the reverberating pain from her forehead to her feet. The dim glow of the candle light signaled the hour to be rather late, though Solona had been unable to tell how long the passage of time had been since her harrowing.

It was the shifting by the door that drew her attention away from her inner confusion. She felt the tingle of dread as it wormed up her spine slowly at the face that greeted her from the doorway. The light reflected off his armor giving him an even more intimidating presence.

"What you did today was a brave thing, for a mage," He stated lowly. His hawkish gaze bored into her eyes with an intensity she would have credited him only using in scouring the tower for rule-breakers. "Not many would use such a gift to save a Templar."

Solona had the wisdom to remain silent. She could have corrected his misconception easily. It was not glory she wanted, but some quiet time to reflect upon all that had happened and the strange ability she had shown. Wynne had called her a Spirit Healer, though the words seemed foreign and without meaning to one that had not understood the significance.

"I had thought you simply a bawd. There is a chance I might have been mistaken. Perhaps," he mulled with quiet reservation, "you are not entirely without worth _mage._"

Solona could have borne his blatant insulting manner with more grace, had he not said her title with such contempt. It had not escaped her notice that he no longer called her apprentice, signaling that she was a full-fledged mage and her rescue had not gotten her sent the mage prison. She might have been able to give a blithe smile as a result of his backward praise. However, a defeated sort of mirth filled her and soon it spilled from her lips with the eagerness of fine wine escaping a cracked goblet.

His amber orbs narrowed at her in unspoken rebuke.

"What do you find so amusing, Mage?"

Her hair tumbled around her shoulders as they shook with her half-hysterical giggles. Her tone was nearly flat, her face almost void of any true emotion. Something, she noted with interest, unsettled this over-proud Templar.

"Ser Cullen," Her tone held no bite to it, as her gaze drifted over him with disinterest. "To put it bluntly, I want nothing from you. Praise or otherwise."

He stared at her, and Solona knew what she had said could very well be her death knell. However, exhaustion had caused her normal self-preservation from rising to her defense. She gazed at his hard expression with a feeling rather akin to apathy.

"You should be honored," he ground out as if she were a small child incapable of understanding the simplest of concepts. "Especially considering how quickly you had bounced from one Templar to another for privileges when we met."

Solona felt anger and disbelief rise within her like a tide that could not be stemmed. "Is that how you view it?"

"I know what I have witnessed," Ser Cullen replied as if it where common knowledge that every female mage was similar to a procuress of a sort.

"If all you have come to do is insult me _Ser_," Solona fought her rising temper lest she cross a line she could not come back from, "I would kindly ask you to leave."

"You think to order me?" He thundered in a roar worthy of any Commander.

"No, though what I think is of little consequence to one such as you who has no understanding," she bit out with contempt dripping from every word.

He sneered at her, and she was beset by the urge to cause him physical harm.

"What is there to understand with your kind?"

She blinked at him once, then twice. Her eyes dimmed as he continued to project uncaring Chantry ideals. Solona lifted her chin to hold her head high.

"That I did not choose to be a mage," She stated softly, the fight had gone out of her from exhaustion and the understanding that this was a battle she would not win. Her hazel eyes speared him with a look of such disdain that she could have sworn he was taken aback. "None of us chose to be little more than vessels for Templar seed and weapons without freedom or the basic rights others have outside these walls."

It was the most she had ever spoken to Ser Cullen and Solona understood why she had avoided speaking with him. The man had the ability to get under her skin with his audacity and bravado. She had never forgiven him for his instant assumptions of her character and person.

And after his atrocious way of speaking to her, Solona decided she would rather spend an afternoon in the company of the insane Ser Carroll. At least his cruelty she could understand.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you to all those that have reviewed. I honestly do appreciate the reviews. **

**That being said, I am aware that some readers do not enjoy this story. That is more than fine, and I do understand that such stories may not be something those individuals are comfortable with. However, in light of some objections to the story, I am contemplating the idea of taking it down. **

**I simply wanted to clarify that such an occurrence may or may not come to pass. **

**Rated M. I own nothing.**

OoOoOo

Solona had gone to considerable lengths to avoid Ser Cullen. The Templar had done her the singular unexpected courtesy of not bringing up her behavior, upon her wakening, to either Ser Otto or the Knight-Commander. Such an action had left her constantly on guard as to when he might expect some sort of payment or privilege for his supposed act of kindness.

Though she had often noticed that Ser Cullen's opinion of mages was less than that of excrement on the side of a country road, Solona had also gleamed the knowledge that he did not change his carnal partners quite as quickly as others changed their bed linens. In short, she assumed the man never did anything without direct cause and effect to benefit the Chantry. Such a fact suited Solona better than her first set of mage robes.

Ser Otto had seemed reluctant to speak upon the matter, though Solona knew his heart had been breaking since Wynne had been injured. He had offered Solona a soft pat on the shoulder, and he had cried unashamed that his true love had once again graced the land of the living. She had wisely chosen to accept the gesture of affection and gratitude without comment.

It had also not escaped her rather keen notice that the other mages had begun to whisper amongst themselves as she passed. The hushed tones echoed in a rather damning sense as she strode down the halls of the cold stone tower. She had found solace in the both the Library, and at the bedside of Wynne as she recovered. The look of pure adoration shining in the older woman's eyes at the sight of her caused Solona's own to sting with emotion. In truth, the woman looking so frail and worn before her was very much the mother figure Solona had needed.

Wynne had been quick with a reprimand or a biting comment. Yet, she had been equally quick with her praise and care. To be a mage was never an easy thing. Solona's heart squeezed in pity and sorrow for she now understood that Wynne cared for all the children of the tower. Each one could have been just like Wynne. '_Or her son_,' Solona thought morosely. Though she now knew the whole sordid tale, Solona had never possessed the sufficient courage or callousness to ask Wynne if she had ever heard the fate of her boy.

Solona was never allowed to remain long. Her duties had been added to considerably in light of her recent status change and her instructions from Wynne to make sure the tower stayed in some semblance of order. That had meant working more closely with Knight-Commander Greagoir, something that had filled her with a sense of foreboding and unease. He was an even more intimidating man than her twelve year old self had remembered; working so close to him had caused flashes of memories to flitter before her mind.

The Knight-Commander appears torn between despising her and considering her an abomination already. His eyes were constantly upon Solona, constantly gauging her, looking for something about her that was worth the slaying. Yet again, the woman remains above reproach in her conduct and her duties. She deflects all questions asked of her to the ready answers that had been forced upon her since she can remember. She has shown a large amount of value by displaying her talents, for being a Spirit Healer though she still does not truly understand the significance, and she has put the Templars on edge because of the sheer talent she had shown.

Solona had felt nothing but humbled after such an event. It had been a stark awakening to the ever present truth that she very well could have shared the fate of Apprentice Tans. Though no one had mourned him openly, she had mourned him in her heart. She had added him to the long list of names of the people she would never see again.

She could sense the unrest in the Circle, both at the Templars and toward her. It was a doomed life for her now. Solona had never been especially close with any of the other mages with the exception of Petra, Bessie, and Wynne. Now, however, the option had seemingly been forever stripped from her due to the sinless act of wanting to save another. At first she ignores the stares coupled with too quiet whispers in her direction. Solona went about her days as is required of her, casting the doubts and fears into the farthest corners of her mind.

The day had been perfectly ordinary in every conceivable way as she had readied the Harrowing chamber for the four young apprentices Wynne had wished to Harrow. Solona was ever duitiful to the First-Enchanter, and in being so, had set about finishing the task herself. It had taken little over a few hours' time to set the room and provide the necessary lyrium and incantations. When she had finished, Solona left hurriedly as the Templars approached. They would stand guard of the room until the trials had begun.

She had said nothing upon exiting the room, and had not bothered to truly look at the men for they all wore their helms. Also, she had hoped to avoid any unwanted questions, comments, or insults.

It was the lingering strands of magic that she senses while wandering the tower to complete the remainder of her duties that cause the hair on the back of her neck to stand upon end. Her senses screamed for her to hide, to flee, or to escape. It had seemed so strange the overwhelming sense of _wrongness_ that caused her feel a well of panic so strong she had scarcely drawn breath. Her heart had hammered with a force previously unknown as she had skittered her way around and behind a statue. She waited, wedged out of fear and sudden understanding.

The music of nearly countless magic songs pounded in her ears. She sensed it in every nook and cranny of the Tower. The whole of the structure had seemed to simply vibrate with the resonance of hundreds of songs cascading in ferocity and intensity. She leaned her head back against the stone, and hugged herself closer to the statue. She stole a few precious moments to dampen her song to near non-existence.

Solona knew what a magical war would have sounded like. She could only grimly tell herself this was far worse than she had ever given herself chance to imagine. Her breaths had begun to come out in short pants before she had forced herself to draw deeply and breath rationally. Panic would be her death if she were not careful.

She heard them before she saw them. The echoed shouts of pain, rage, terror, and then finally silence. In the silence she trembled terrified. The magic swirled, danced, pushed, and ebbed all around her. That was when she heard the unmistakable sounds of swords clashing against flesh and bone. Death was coming toward her, though she knew not why. The doors clanged open, the sound of them scraping across the stone floor caused the mage to jump, before settling herself down once more. Solona mental warned herself to be silent and still. It would not have mattered had she been speaking for the screams of the mages being dragged by abominations would have drowned out any bit of sound she might have made.

Her hazel eyes widened in horror and unshed tears as she watched them being dragged bodily away, into the next room. She felt the urge to rush out from her hiding place and attempt to rescue them. However, as she had started to edge out from behind the statue, she saw Uldred stride through the door. His face had been painted in a sickening smile of pure unadulterated joy. She had been shaken by the revelation. He enjoyed this. She blanched, unwilling to move out any further.

"Oh do quit your screaming," he half cackled in maniacal delight, "accept the gift I offer you."

Her stomach had rebelled at the scene before her, but Solona willed herself not to be sick. If he spotted her, he would surely strike her down. Her fingers bit into the stone with a strength born of sudden hatred. Her fury was nearly unparalleled. However, she knew better than to go chagrining in. She closed her eyes and valiantly attempted to blot out the terrified fasces of her fellow mages. She had known them all, for she had lived here for what seemed only moments ago as forever.

Solona had begun to compartmentalize what needed to be done though she still trembled like a leaf in an autumn wind storm. One lone mage could not defeat uncounted abominations, and she sensed the use of the blood. It was the blood song of blood magic. Her own gift recoiled in revulsion from its profane feel as it seeped through the very stones.

She understood that she needed help, and she needed to save as many people as she was able to. The damage likely done amidst spells, fighting, and abominations would be astronomical. She waited until Uldred had left to leave her hiding place. She pushed back the hood of her mage cowl, and shuddered as her hair tumbled from its neat arrangement. She was a mage, and had been told since birth that hse was cursed. She had been told she was an abomination and a disgrace. Yet, having watched a true abomination, having been thrust into a veritable Black city on Thedas; Solona drew her furious eyes to the door from which Uldred had come.

She was in need of Templars, and she was in need of them now.

She gave a quick glance around to ensure no one else was set upon coming through, and cautiously edged toward the door through which the ghastly procession had gone. The mage kept her steps light and hurried. Her fingers which had been numbed from fear and worry, grasped at the staff kept securely on her back. Her hazel eyes peaked around the door way and landed on a group of four or five Templars. She had been struck with a sense of relief.

It was then she noticed the cage that jailed them, and the demon that floated before it as it taunted the men. '_Desire_,' Solona thought in agitation. It was a wise choice for this tower was a cesspool of ill-hidden lusts and wants. A place such as this was a perfect juicy morsel for one such as the female demon coyly flaunting her unearthly assets. The Templars appeared to be a curious mix of furious and enthralled. Solona gripped her staff harder.

She had never entered into combat with anything, not truly anyway. She was not even confident she could take on a demon at all, even one as weaker as a desire demon. Before she is able to comprehend what her next step should be, Solona realized belatedly that she had already attacked. The screams of her fellow mages in the harrowing chamber above drowned out the song of her magic against the chorus of twisted and dark magic that resonated from beyond the door.

The Demon hissed in surprise, her mouth tumbling with groans of lust and pleasure. Solona inwardly cringed at such sounds due to her life thus far. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a Templar attempting to assist her by pounding furiously at the cage that held them.

Gathering her magic once more, Solona struck. Her mind was far to entrenched in the fight before her to have paid much head to the shock flooding her system. The pounding of her heart echoed in time with the pulse of her song. She had begun on the offensive, and she was determined to remain as such. Her wards of repulsion flared to life underneath the Demon who's black eyes watched her in open dislike. Those eyes were cold, unfeeling, and… soulless.

The demon floated nearer and gave a laugh, and Solona became enraged. She was forced to lash out with her staff and caught the unsuspecting demon in mid-air. She watched the violaceous body as it had slumped to the floor. Her arm twitched as she brought it to her side once more. Her aureate robe was dirty, and a few splotches of the Demon's blood stained the fabric. Solona's eyes wandered in a half-dazed way to land upon the trapped Templars.

Her attention was quickly caught by the tortured screams, and howls of pain emanating from up the stairs. She had stilled in reaction.

"Set us free mage," she recognized the icy voice of Ser Cullen.

Numbly, she had moved forward to do as he had bid. She was brought up short when she had begun to take down the barrier. She had never seen its like before, and a small part of her desperately prayed she would never see it again.

She wrinkled her brow. "I cannot force it down," she informed them with a note of panic flirting at the edge of her words.

Ser Cullen swore a vicious sting of curses. His gauntleted hand had slammed repeatedly at the barrier over and over in pure vexation. Solona brought her own hand to rest upon the cage that held the Templars fast. She called the song of her magic forth to feel the barrier. It had felt wicked, dirty, and debasing. When she opened her eyes, she could only see the frightened gazes of the men before her. Out of a compassion she had never felt for the walking statues who cared so little for her kind, Solona sought to reassure them.

Her hazel eyes locked with Amber orbs. "I will come back for you," she promised fervently. "I will come back."

Ser Cullen stiffened in agitation and outrage. "The whispers of your true potential must have been greatly exaggerated if you cannot free us _Mage_, unless you think you can defeat _Uldred_," he spat the name out in blatant disgust. He has lashed out and she has allowed it for she understood that they were all ill at ease.

Solona shook her head as she gazed around the tower that still screamed with magic. "I cannot defeat him alone," she clarified in the secret hope she was correct, "I must go find others. Not everyone could be on his side. I-I must find others. Mage or Templar, it matters not."

"_Mages_," he continues incised, "we should simply wipe out the whole lot. You are a pestilence. A plague upon the land-"

"And, right now _Ser Cullen_," she bit out ," you need me. No matter what you see. No matter how wonderful it seems. Trust nothing," she warns with finality as she leaves the room. The men watch her retreating form bracing themselves for the battle to come. They braced themselves for death. However, it was Cullen that watched the door long after she had left. The men noted the look of deep thought upon his brow.

OoOoOo

When at last she returns, after sneaking her way down to find a cluster of enthralled Templars which she barely managed to pull from the grasp of another desire demon, she is being used as a source of empowerment for the Templars. She willingly offers up her magic and they in turn leech it from her greedily like suckling pigs whose bellies are never filled enough. Her eyes are clouded with the song of her magic as it cantabile of her magic flows easily around and through her. The Templars she has rescued guard her much like a precious treasure, for she is their lifeline and only hope against this atrocity.

It is her magic that has fed their talents, and has brought them to terrifying potency. Solona feels the strain as they pull from her all too well. How long she will be able to keep feeding them her magic, she does not know. However, desperation and determination war within her and constantly push for her to give just that much more.

In her heart she strives only to save those she cares for, and she knows just as keenly that it is likely most are already dead. It is a thought she does not linger long upon. Ser Brann is at her back, drawing heavily upon her song so that he may take the lead in the next assault. It allows the men to not become over fatigue too quickly if they rotate the majority of the fighting. She turned slightly when he stopped her with a heavy hand upon her shoulder. He gave her a nod of thanks, and strode in front of her demanding the next man protect her.

Solona had never witnessed them being other than brutes, and it caused her a sense of foreign discomfort to see them relying upon her. She had already told them about the others being held captive behind magic Solona cannot break through. They already trusted her implicitly, for had she wished to kill them, she would have left them to their fate. Solona had not been able to go further down the tower for fear of the abominations she could not handle fully on her own. It had been luck, or perhaps the Maker had taken pity on her to have found these men.

The small band of resistance rounded the corner on the way to the harrowing chamber. Ser Cullen turned to stare at them in agitated and wary contemplation. He commands his men to force the illusion away if they can. They followed without protest to his orders, and when at last they open their eyes again, an understanding ripples through the caged men.

Solona had kept her promise. She had come back for them. Though her sight was temporarily impaired by the magic swirling in her eyes ever constant at the surface for the Templars to use at their discretion; she knew that they had not expected her to actually return.

"Ser Cullen," Ser Brann says in a harsh tone that bleeds over from the tense situation, "tell us what has happened."

"Blood magic," Ser Cullen spits out as if it defiles him to say the words, "Uldred has taken the others, including the First Enchanter-"

Solona's heart plummets to the soles of her feet at his words. '_Wynne,'_ she thinks in a state of near panic.

"You must slay them. _All_ of them."

The retort tears its way from her throat as she reached out a hand to grasp Ser Brann's arm. "You cannot kill them. The mages he has taken by force are innocent."

"No Mage is innocent," Ser Cullen hisses in outrage.

Solona blindly looks in the direction of his voice. She did not need to say a word for she knows he can see the magic, and can hear her song as it pours off of her in gentle waves. If the subtle rebuke had given him pause to reconsider his harsh words, she does not know.

"Ser Brann," she pleaded again, "I am not a blood mage, and several of the souls in that room are not either. If we can stop Uldred, then please, I beseech you to think of the lives you are supposed to protect."

She felt his arm shake under her touch, and his voice sounds slightly hollow when at last he replied. "I cannot kill innocents Ser Cullen."

"Then you have doomed us all. May the Maker turn his gaze on you."

Solona can feel his anger and she is keenly aware it is directed solely on her. She was led up the stairs with a hand on back to guide her. The door banged open, and suddenly the swelling reprise of the blood magic is deafening. It howls and beckons all around her which caused Solona to fight to get the sounds out of her head. The Templars are similarly affected, but were much quicker to recover. In the spanse of a heartbeat they exploded into movement, sound, and action.

Her magic is yanked from her in greedy helpings as she hears the growls and roars of abominations. The sounds of changing flesh and screams jar her to her very soul. Solona stands alone repeating the song of her magic over and over. She had already begun to weaken and her magic was far from limitless.

_Give in._

The whisper started softly, and Solona shuts her eyes against the lyrical voice. Dimly, she registers the dark chanting in the background.

_Come join us. _The voice tempted sweetly. _We can free you. We can give you power the likes of which you have never known._

Solona has never wanted power.

_We can give you love._

The only love she had ever longed for was the love of a mother, since her own had abandoned her here. One she had already found in Wynne.

_We can make them pay for what you have suffered._

That was a thought which caused her skull to nearly split with the force that rushed her thoughts. Solona fought it with all her might. '_I will not. I will NOT. I WILL NOT!'_ The final thought was a scream that rippled through her mind and out of her body.

"Help me," she cried out to any mage that would listen. "Help the Templars save us all. Give your magic to them. It is the only way."

For a moment she was alone with only the traitorous whispers of blood magic delving into her heart and thoughts. Then she heard the requiem of magic all around her. It had come from a few directions as it started out softly, before it grew in intensity to rival the song of the blood magic pitch for pitch. Tears of relief cascaded down her face as she leant the fading notes of her own song to theirs.

The world of sounds outside of magic reappeared with startling clarity. Solona once more became aware of the sounds of fighting and the cries of pain. Her heart hammered in her chest as the last of her magic was pulled from her by a Templar. Her hazel eyes focused once more on the blood and carnage of the room.

Death.

Everywhere she turned she could see the corpses of abominations, Templars, and mages. She gazed on the terrifying creature Uldred had become before it crashed to the stone floor. The final breath of magic flushed across the room and Solona knew that some would be severely injured. Her gaze drifted to assess the situation when she caught a glimpse of a woman in a heap on the floor.

Her world crumbled into ashes as she stood staring at the white hair of a very familiar person. Her feet had moved of their own accord and Solona collapsed to her knees by Wynne. Her fingers had shaken as she gingerly reached out to find any sign of life. Anything at all.

"Get the First Enchanter," she registered the voice of Ser Cullen in the doorway, "we still have many more floors to clear." His voice was as hard and cold as steel.

"That would be me," Solona half-whispered in forlorn anguish.

Wynne was dead.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you so much for your reviews. Upon reflection and the wonderful comments of support or those that did wish to read this story, I have decided not to cancel it and settle any other complaints toward the story with the person that objected. Thank you.**

**I own nothing. Rated M.**

OoOoOo

Solona spoke naught one word through the rest of the long and terrifying night. Her talent had long since been drained by the Templars who protected her akin to a priceless treasure as they walked cautiously down hallways stained red with the blood of the slaughtered. For that is what it had truly been, nothing short of slaughter. It had been hideous and too painful to think upon for overlong.

She had been forced to avert her eyes from the sight of corpses strewn about the rooms, spilling into the halls, and the ghastly faces of those killed in the throes of terror. Their mouths hung open in silent screams, so painful that Solona could have imagined the keening wails as they died frightened and alone. The smells of rotting charred and decaying flesh rose forth in such a strong scent that every person present was forced to control their rebelling stomachs lest they spill the contents.

A soft whimper to her left gave Solona pause. She had broken from the group, the shouts of alarmed Templars not quite reaching her ears. She looked, half stricken with fear and hope. Her eyes wandered the length of the overturned apprentice rooms. Her teeth clenched of their own accord at the sight of the slain children before her.

The vicious tug of her arm caught in the cruel grasp of something unforgiving turned her attention.

"Where do you think you are going mage?" Ser Cullen's dark amber orbs pierced her, the suspicion of her filtering through to his gaze. He had been tense ever since she had been unable to drop the barrier on her own. Accusation had been written plainly on his face.

"There-there was…" She trailed off lamely, her breathing slightly erratic.

The whimper, almost too soft to be heard now, resounded again. Solona tugged her arm from the Templar's grasp and turned her body toward the sound.

"Who is there? Where are you?" Her voice held a note of panic, but she forced herself to smooth it down. Whoever was still in here had to be utterly terrified. "It is alright now," she called out soothingly, "my name is Solona Amell, I am a mage of the circle. You are safe."

Ser Cullen drew her attention by putting his hand on the hilt of his sword. Other Templars started pouring into the room. Solona placed her hand on Ser Cullen's to still the motion with a slight shake of her head. He had not stilled under her touch with his eyes blazing indignation and something else she couldn't place nor did she care to at the moment.

"You are safe now, please come out," she cajoled softly.

The rustle of fabric and the movement caught her eyes. The mage saw a body shift; her alarm grew as she believed for a moment that a Demon might still be in the room with them. Everyone tensed, some of the Templars drew in a deep breath and Solona could hear the songs of her sister mages as they had leant what little magic remained.

A small face splattered with blood and with frightened wide eyes appeared under the corpse of an older mage. Solona understood in an instant what had occurred. The older mage must have shielded the apprentice with their own body to protect the child. Solona moved before she understood the action, her feet had carried her to the child and she began yanking the lifeless body off of the girl. Solona sobbed slightly in relief as the child broker free and latched onto her.

She had cradled the girl close, smoothing her blood- streaked hair and whispering words of comfort as she wrapped her arms tightly around the apprentice.

"Move along mage," Ser Cullen commanded after a moment's pause, his eyes hard and unforgiving.

Solona had hefted the child up and allowed the apprentice to bury her face in Solona's neck. She was content to let the younger sob to her heart's content. Solona stroked the apprentice's hair once more and had begun to hum a well-known Fereldan song. Her sister mages, and other slightly older apprentices, looked vastly relieved to find someone else alive amongst the carnage. Solona stumbled forward absently clinging to this one bit of good fortune, crooning softly to the apprentice.

Another stroke of the Maker's kindness blessed them with meeting Petra and a few other apprentices behind an erected barrier. Solona gave a wan smile and reached out her hand to clasp Petra's closely, a gesture of friendship and understanding. Petra led the other apprentices to join the group of remaining mages which were guarded by Templars on all sides. They moved as a group through the halls, eyes wary and to the point of exhaustion.

"Solona," Petra whispered with her voice breaking due to heavy emotion, "I am so grateful to see you. But what of Wynne and the others?"

Solona felt the weight of dozens of eyes on her. She held her head high, attempting valiantly to be brave in the face of all that had occurred. "Wynne," she croaked out with her voice ruff from lack of use, "has passed. I am so very happy to see you Petra," she knows it is the truth, "but those you see here are all that are left."

The words drip with finality.

Her mind numbly recounted the day's horrors, and took a quick tally of the handful of mages left. Some known to her, others were not. Solona inhaled deeply as they came to the doors to the main hall which had been shut. She understood what this rebellion with blood magic could possibly cost them.

The right of annulment was something had been whispered about since she had first come to the Circle Tower all those years ago. It was the one thing that frightened any mage more than a demon. It was death for everyone of a magical nature, possessed or not. The innocent slaughtered with the guilty for the sake of 'preserving' the tower. Solona gripped the apprentice harder, and her eyes searched the Templar's faces for some sort of clue as to their fate. She already knew that on the faces of the mages there would be resignation, terror, and sorrow.

Ser Cullen strode forward and pounded on the large door fiercely. "This is Ser Cullen, I and several other Templars have cleared the tower and secured the remaining mages."

Solona closed her eyes a grief and heartbreak welled within her. 'Secured', he had said, as if they were criminals and not the saviors of the Circle.

A voice broke through the door, just as Ser Carroll stepped far too close for Solona's comfort, but she could say nothing or cause a scene that might prevent the group from being allowed out. "Knight-Commander! He claims to be Ser Cullen with a group of other survivors."

The silence echoed on beneath the flickering torchlight.

The sound of booted feet crossing the floor could be heard and the mages seemed to take in a collective breath and held it. Solona soothed the apprentice that whimpered in her arms. Ser Carroll stared at her with greedy eyes, both exhausted from battle and gleaming sickeningly with their want of her. Solona turned her gaze away.

"Identify yourself," The Knight-Commander's voice boomed through the doors.

"I am Ser Cullen," the Templar answered readily, "I along with several other Templars have secured the remaining mages."

"This could well be a trick. Do you have the First Enchanter amongst your ranks? I would trust her word."

Ser Cullen growled low in his throat with irritation and worry for his men.

"Knight-Commander Ser," Solona set the apprentice down and moved forward toward the door. The Mages and Templars parted for her; she could see respect shining in the eyes of some of the men. Her voice waivered a moment, "My name is Solona Amell. The First Enchanter Wynne was slain," she paused and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, "by Uldred. Knight-Commander," she continued staring forlornly at the door, "there are but twelve or thirteen full mages alive and a handful more of apprentices."

"Mage Amell?" The Knight-Commander queried through the door. "I see."

Solona tried to still her racing heart at what those words would mean for her kind. The harsh glare of Ser Cullen was burning into her, a slight blush decorated her cheeks, but she would do it again though she did not doubt she would be punished for speaking out of turn.

Relief flooded her to the point of her knees buckling, unable to keep up her weight, when the sound of the bolt being lifted rang throughout the hall. A few mages had burst into tears, and the Templars eased slightly, their hands still on the hilts of their swords.

The doors creaked opened and Solona caught sight of more Templars in full armor, the haggard face of the Knight-Commander and looks of open distrust on the faces of all the others present.

"Ser Cullen," the Knight-Commander snapped out harshly.

Ser Cullen pressed past her forcefully striding forward to his commanding officer. His face was contorted into a mask of fury coupled with duty.

"First Enchanter, you come here as well."

Solona turned her head to look down the hall where dirty faces with worn looks greeted her. She wrinkled her brow in confusion for she had already delivered the news that Wynne was dead.

The Knight-Commander sighed in open irritation. "You," he pointed a finger at her imperiously.

Ser Cullen stiffened and Solona nearly forgot how to breathe. Her steps feet felt leaded as they walked across the cold stone floor.

"Knight-Commander, Ser," Ser Cullen objected though clenched teeth. "She is not the eldest mage."

Solona had known that to be true. Petra was her senior by a few years as were two other mages that had survived. She looked down for a moment, then up at the Knight-Commander with determination shining in her eyes. The whips of conversations with Wynne, the subtle hints had pieced themselves together and showed her a crystal clear picture. Solona was not the eldest mage after Wynne, but she had been chosen as the First Enchanter's successor prior to her death.

"I am well aware of the fact Ser Cullen," The Knight-Commander hissed, "however, she was chosen as Wynne's successor already. Her talent as a spirit healer placed her in the position once the Revered Mother learned of it. And, with her Protector deceased," the words were gentled slightly and Solona thought it uncharacteristically kind of the hard man, "there are not complications with her becoming the First Enchanter."

The elder man's gaze turned solely upon slowly. "I trust you understand the new duties you will be up taking?"

She kept her head down and forced the tears of sorrow and anguish at bay. A strange sort of sadistic pleasure was found in knowing that Ser Carroll would not be allowed to possess her. However, there was still a sense of loss knowing that Ser Otto, the man who had protected her and a person she had held a small bit of affection for was dead. He had been killed by blood mages the same as Wynne. Solona felt a wave of bittersweet sentimentality upon thinking that Ser Otto and Wynne would finally be reunited now in a place where birth talents did not matter.

"I understand Knight-Commander," she stated hollowly, "and I abide by the wishes of the Chantry. I hope to serve the Circle well." The words hold no meaning for her, but she states them as she knows she must.

Ser Cullen snarls lowly into his throat, but let's the matter drop. The Knight-Commander demands they share the story of how they escaped and cleared the tower. Several Templars are called to bear witness for Solona's decision to leave Ser Cullen's patrol and seek help elsewhere. She stands silently as they discuss her actions as if she had not part in them. She glances behind her toward the other mages, still confined to the hall. All of which are frightened and likely starving for the last meal any of them had eaten was hours upon hours ago. Solona clears her throat delicately as the Knight-Commander's damning gaze rests on her once more.

"You have something you wish to add First Enchanter?"

The tile feels wrong and Solona is struck with a sensation of feeling like an imposter. This title and position belongs rightfully to Wynne and not her. Solona shakes her head. "No Knight-Commander, I wished to ask if I might see to the care of my fellow mages. Many of them," her eyes flicked downward for a moment still caught in the mentality of being twelve and brought to the Tower for the first time under his apathetic stare, "are hungry and in need of rest."

The man seems to ponder it, his critical eyes land of the faces of the children and women. He then moves to the faces of his men, who are also drained physically and emotionally. He frowns at her fiercely, and Ser Cullen snorts in distaste.

"Very well, see to the children," he concedes, "however, the adults must remain where they are for questioning."

Solona nods, "As you say." She turns slowly away, the weight of this tremendous burden bogging down her mind, but she shakes it off admirably for those that now count on her.

Their faces so devoid of hope and light make her pause to wonder if this was how Wynne felt the first time she met Solona. She shepherds the children off toward one of the alcoves where they might sleep for a time, and the quartermaster gives her some food from his stock for them to eat. Solona thanks him for his kindness toward them as she tucks stray bits of clothing around them for warms. The children whimper in a huddle on the ground. Her eyes cast a sad look for them filled with every emotion she never allowed herself to express for herself.

Ser Brann offers to watch over them, though he is clearly only barely able to stand. Solona nods for the apprentices have come to trust the Templars, and they will for a time after this. She sighs inwardly that she can find no fault in the Templars this night for saving so many, and losing brothers in arms in the process.

Ser Cullen finds her, busily setting up the sleeping area for the adult mages, two she has decided will stay with the children should they wake with nightmares. His eyes are burning with anger, grief, and when they look at her a strange light of respect perhaps? Solona is uncertain.

"I thank you," he rumbles as if the words pain him to even speak them, "for keeping your word."

Solona looks at him, her face smudged with dirt and filth. Her hair in disarray, and her robe ripped in a few places. Her demeanor is calm and accepting that this has happened, though she is secretly furious at those that caused this atrocity.

She has no words for him, so she chose instead to nod her understanding.

"I know Ser Carroll bothers you," he continued cautiously, "your dislike of him was fairly obvious by the way you avoided him. You will not have to be worried about that now."

Solona says nothing and spreads an old blanket, reserved normally for the Tower's mouser, on the ground.

"I don't trust your kind."

"I understand Ser Cullen," she finally replies far more neutrally than she had believed possible. Her eyes clash with his amber orbs. His face appeared slightly flushed, though his stare was no less unforgiving than before.

"You are the property of the Knight-Commander," he stated bluntly.

Solona drew herself up to her full height, refusing to bow down in front of this insufferable man who was constantly attempting to provoke her. "Yes, so I am."

_Property_. The words felt like a stab in the heart. She was nothing more than a belonging. A belonging she reminded herself none too gently that had the lives of every mage in this tower to look after. Aching, and heartbroken Solona could think only of Wynne.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Hey thank you all for reading/reviewing. We are getting closer to Solona changing the Tower as we know it. Please be warned this chapter is dark and mature themes are used.**

**Please enjoy, I do not own anything and this is for entertainment purposes only.**

OoOoOo

The children continued to cry out in the throes of their nightmares where demons twisted and taunted. Three days had passed since the unforgettable damage had been wrought upon the Circle tower. Solona brushed a lock of hair from her worn face as she shushed yet another apprentice back into a dreamless sleep. Or, as much of a dreamless abyss that could be for a mage. They were cursed to be awake and truly experience all their trips into the fade that other mortals escaped.

Petra had taken up vigil at her side they had volunteered with the Knight-Commander to keep watch over the apprentices. It is bone weary work listening to the tormented screams and whimpers of the innocent, yet she trudged on. Between the constant fears of the mages and her newest duties, which include lesson plans to continue honing the gifts of these terrified souls who want nothing to do with magic anymore, Solona has had scarcely a moment to breathe.

Yet, she has forced herself to be more and do more as a veritable hoard of unknown Templars swept into the tower to wash away the scent of death. The mages have been too frightened to go anywhere in groups numbering less than three. These men and women Solona does not know have been watching them all akin to watching a dangerous animal the only pretends to be tame. She understands they frighten the Templars, but she also has been made aware through her pervious time in the tower that they are much wanted by them.

It has been her saving grace, on more than one occasion, to belong to the Knight-Commander. The newest Templars are not granted the same exclusive rights to the mages as the others were. The mages have been reduced to a first come and first served basis. Though the handful of true 'mages' living in the tower have not been coerced into anything yet, as even the Templars appeared to have some sense of decency, it had not stopped Solona from hearing the whispered claims of men in waiting.

It was made clear from the moment they crossed the blood covered threshold, that Solona Amell was the newly appointed First Enchanter and therefore off limits to any and all except the Knight-Commander. Solona shivered in revulsion as she had been paraded out in front of the wary but hungry eyes of strangers. Her head was held high and her face was as calm as she had ever been able to manage as Ser Carroll gave the introduction with eyes burning bright in obsession.

He had not forgotten Solona, and she had never stopped being wary of Ser Carroll. His very presence had felt like a violation upon her already taxed person. Ser Cullen had taken to watching the children and coordinating the Templar effort to rally the Tower back to its former state. Though there were times when Solona felt his eyes watching her, she had never bothered to meet his gaze. There were far more important matters such as seeing to the wounded, organizing the mages to form some semblance of normalcy, and grieving over Wynne to take care of.

Solona could not help the bitter tears of sadness that cascaded down her cheeks whenever she had a moment alone to reflect on the twisted and broken body that had been Wynne in the Harrowing chamber. Nor could she stop the shuddering sob that wracked her body when she thought of the first night after.

Greagoir had pulled her into his office. Her thoughts still clouded and her magic completely drained of her. Solona felt every inch the husk of her usual self as he'd sat her down and stared at her unforgivingly.

"You're the new First Enchanter. You know what comes with that?" He'd asked without much inflection in his voice. If he was pleased by this development, Solona could not have said.

She gripped her hands together in her lap until her knuckles turned white.

"I understand my obligations," she had responded quietly.

Greagoir 's gauntleted hand had rubbed over his face in open agitation. His eyes pierced her as he lowered his voice and kneeled down.

"I don't want you," he said. "I've never wanted you and I don't much care for you at all."

Solona nearly laughed, a hysterical bubble welled in her throat. Her face, however, had remained still as if carved in stone.

When she had failed to respond to his declaration, the Knight-Commander continued. "Hell," he swore softly, "it's no secret that I bore a certain… affection toward Wynne." He had said her name half-reverently as if she'd been more than just some mage. Solona had sharply looked up at the tone, with her eyes searching his face curiously. "But, _she_ had affection for _you, _of a motherly sort." His lips twitched with distaste.

Solona remained mute.

His eyes cut her like a knife and the raw anger at her existence and Wynne's death was apparent. "As fate would have it, you are here now and she is not. Therefore I will honor your position as first enchanter and grant you the protection my position offers."

"Please Knight Commander," she pleaded respectfully, "tell me what you expect of me and I shall comply."

A tick worked in his jaw and Solona watched it carefully. "I shall expect you to act above reproach, you will never disagree with me publicly no matter how small or large the topic. Concerns shall be brought to me in private. Finally, I shall expect you to submit should I require it of you."

Solona closed her eyes and for a moment fought the nausea that had crept into her throat.

"Wynne asked me to watch over you, and I shall as long as I am still Knight-Commander," his tone turned bitter and she blinked in confusion.

"I do not-"

"Have you no sense child?!" He half roared.

Solona flinched back into the chair; reflexively she had gripped some spare fabric of her robe and clung to it tightly.

His face twisted into a mocking sneer. "Do you think the Revered Mother will look kindly upon this Blood magic coup? I will be lucky to remain a Templar." Spittle flew from his mouth and struck Solona on the cheek as his face had turned red with rage. "I will protect you as long as I am able, as I promised Wynne, but no more than that."

Solona swiped at her cheek as she had steeled herself not to allow tears to fall. Anger and fear tore at her insides with unforgiving claws. Her eyes snapped toward the Knight-Commander's and dared her to say something.

"Did you love her?" Her question was forceful but soft.

Greagoir froze for a moment, his eyes promising her pain yet to come. His face had been a frightening thing to behold. "You've been through quite a trauma Mage Amell," it's a slap against her station but she said nothing, "so I will forgive your outburst."

"Did. You. Love. Her?" She repeated recklessly.

"I loved her more than a sniveling slip of a woman like you could ever understand."

"Is that why you ordered her son taken from her arms before she could even touch him?" Solona jumped from the chair and stood proudly. A haughty spirit to goeth before a fall.

The Knight-Commander turned toward her, his face stopped her perceived righteous indignation. The look of a torn and tormented soul looked back at her. "She never said she told you," he stated with heartbreaking sadness. His eyes met her and their dynamic changed instantaneously. "The babe was dead," he told her flatly. "Wynne was too exhausted and in so much pain she convinced herself the babe cried. But it never did." He shook his head sadly. "How could I place a dead child in her arms? No. It was better to take it away and let her believe…"

Solona had stared at him in open compassion and understanding. She'd been so wrong and blind. The Knight-Commander despised her because his love lay dead as she took her place both in title and in his bed. Solona had felt sickened.

"I did not… I am sorry," she said meaning it fully, "I had no idea."

He waved a hand dismissively. "No one did except the midwife and I. It was a kinder fate, I think. Letting her believe a part of she and Ser Otto was out in the world walking around. " he then had turned toward his desk, the picture of a defeated man. "Get out of my sight, Mage Amell, until I call for you."

Solona had fled.

OoOoOo

She spent her days in agonizing sorrow and grief. Loss was not an uncommon thing to occur in the Circle, but on such a large scale it seemed nearly unbelievable. Solona often considered herself a coward for hiding when the first spells had been shot off and the horrid tainted song had risen through the tower. She berated herself for all the things she should have done to save more lives. And, in her worst nightmares she saw Wynne murdered and the others dropped around her like flies. Young faces forever trapped in an unending horror.

She'd wake from her nightmare, pouring sweat and shivering. The other mages would awaken and look at her with knowing eyes as words of empty comfort were whispered to soothe her. Solona had never felt so ill at ease as she had these past few days. They were stuck, the mages and her, as they always were behind the confining cold stone walls of the Tower. Yet now, they had the ghosts of loved ones to contend with and the whispers of demons that still clung to the sealed tears in the veil hoping for a way out.

She sat up in her night gown, and moved with bare feet across the large room to check on the apprentices. The two mages assigned to watch over them, were attempting to rest as much as they could before the next horrid remembrance pulled them forcefully from the fade. She looked at each face, some peaceful and others contorted in fear. Solona fell to her knees, not caring of the sting and the cold. She prayed, knowing the watchful eyes of at least five Templars were on her.

"Maker," she whispered in the stillness, "Maker please watch over the children. I know you're gaze has turned from this land, and from the people, but please, I beseech you, protect the children."

Lost in her thoughts she ended the simple prayer and chose instead to remain watching over them. The apprentices were still so innocent in the ways of the world and the Tower. Solona wondered how she was to tell them, that soon this brief respite would be over and they would be expected to grow and replenish the severely dwindled numbers.

Selfishly, Solona wondered how she was to bare the touch of a man that despised her. Ser Otto had treated her with a gentle indifference; she did not think that the Knight-Commander would do the same. Solona refused to believe he would enjoy harming her, but the possibility never floated far from her mind.

She shivered and looked around. She heard the movement of armor scraping across stone and her gaze snapped up to meet Ser Carroll filing the doorway with four other fresh guards.

"You're out of bed First Enchanter," his slimy voice brushed across her ears and she hugged her midsection in response.

Her lips parted as she met his gaze, attempting but failing to no longer be frightened by him. Yet, the thought struck her that should Greagoir be removed as the Knight-Commander would someone like Ser Carroll take his place? Ser Carroll had been here for a number of years. Solona fought to keep the pained expression off her face.

"Clearly she was checking upon the apprentices," a deep timber interjected imposing no argument, "Ser Carroll we are here to guard the remaining mages, not fill up the time with idle chit-chat and obvious statements."

Solona breathed a sigh of relief at her defense given so kindly by Ser Brann. "Of course Ser," she nodded no longer looking at Carroll. "I shall return to my bed at once." She gave a grateful look to Ser Brann as she strode across the floor back to her abandoned bed. She noticed the terrified eyes of her fellow mages. Solona briefly touched Petra's shoulder as she passed. It was a wordless reassurance that everything would be well.

Though as she rolled her back toward the door, she could feel Ser Carroll's eyes on her like a brand and she forced herself not to think of the possibility that he could be her next Protector.

Yet, as she willed herself into a fitful sleep, all Solona could wonder was what would happen when the Revered Mother had passed judgment on what had occurred? Would The Knight-Commander retain his position? Would she belong to someone else come that day?

She had barely slept forty winks when a rough hand shook her from her slumber. Solona bolted upright. Her gaze flying around the room wildly, ash she struggled to her feet.

"What is it? Has something happened? Are the apprentices safe?" She rapidly asked the questions as she searched the face of the Templar that had woken her.

Ser Cullen gazed back at her, his amber orbs trailing down her nightgown and back up to her face quickly. Solona did not have the time nor the opportunity to process that as he beckoned her to follow him. "Nothing is wrong First Enchanter, you have been summoned."

He turned to leave the room, and Solona stumbled after him. "Do I not have the time to change into proper dress?" She knew her hair was a fright, and she needed to alert the others that she was leaving lest they wake and be frightened at her disappearance.

He stiffened but continued forward at her words. "You will have no need of it." He replied cryptically in a hard voice.

Solona caught his meaning, and looked down for a moment though Ser Cullen could not see it. "I am being summoned to the Knight-Commander, aren't I?"

Silence was his reply and Solona took a deep breath to calm her raging nerves. Had he heard from the Revered Mother? Was he summoning her to fulfill her obligation? Had he learned something during the course of his investigation? Her thoughts jumbled and collided one after another until she nearly drove herself to the point of vexation.

The Knight-Commander's door had never appeared quite so ominous before. Solona fought the trembling in her limbs, and tried to keep the look of fear off her face. Ser Cullen watched her silently as he knocked loudly upon the door.

"Come in," Greagoir's voice boomed and Solona flinched in reaction. She squared her shoulders and held her head high.

Ser Cullen pushed against the door and it groaned in response as it opened with maddening slowness. Greagoir's eyes glanced over Solona and then to Ser Cullen. "You may go now."

Ser Cullen bowed slightly and left, his armor rattling slightly as he walked away.

"Close the door behind you," He commanded Solona, who nodded and stepped inside. She was forced to use the bulk of her weight to budge the heavy door. She turned and looked at him, noting his lack of armor.

Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

"It has been a few weeks since the incident, as you well know," his eyes narrowed on her like a predator. "I have been informed by the Revered Mother, that I shall retain my position until a suitable replacement can be found for me."

Solona felt her body turn slowly to stone.

"I do not know who your new Protector will be, but the Revered Mother has decided to uphold you as First Enchanter in light of your Spirit Healer abilities." He walked forward toward Solona, his hot breath ghosted across her neck. He lightly touched her shoulders and she willed herself not to flinch. This was her duty and for the good of the mages who were still under her protection.

They did not look at each other. Solona had the distinct impression he had not called her here simply to talk. She steeled herself for the inevitable as he nipped at her shoulder with his teeth.

"Take the night dress off," he commanded passively.

With stiff fingers she complied, and closed her eyes briefly to compose her thoughts. '_This is no different than with Ser Otto_', she attempted to convince herself. Greagoir nudged her toward his bed.

"Lay down, and be silent." He told her with that same passive tone as he extinguished the lights. Solona shut her yes tightly as his weight was felt on the bed.

She was successful from detaching herself from what he asked of her body, but she could not stop the feeling of emptiness that spread when he called out Wynne's name.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Thank you to all my lovely reviewers! It really means a lot to me that you take the time to leave a comment or two. Thanks again.**

**I own nothing. Please enjoy.**

OoOoOo

Solona haunted the tower. The picture of a lovely waif with nowhere but the confining gray walls to roam. Her duties took up the vast majority of her time and she counted it a blessing most days. However, it was in times of silence that her world seemed so small and bleak. She had been trying in vain the last few days to cast of the memories of her brief night with Greagoir. He had not called for her since. That both relieved and worried her. For this was her lot in life and she was the protector of all the other mages in the Tower, the burden weighed on her each day. Yet, when she was called to fulfill her obligations she could be reassured that with her end of the bargain kept, the Knight-Commander would uphold his.

She worried most often about his replacement. Who would the man be? What would he be like? Should she dare hope that he would be an honorable man? Or was that a foolish notion? She prayed to the Maker nightly that it would not be Ser Carroll or any man of his ilk. Often her eyes wandered over the Templars in the Tower with innocent curiosity it one of the men she already knew would take Greagoir's place. If she was truly lucky Ser Brann would take his stead and Solona could content herself in the knowledge that while she might never know love she would at the very least have a Templar's respect. Many unions had been built upon far less and it would be a wonderful union for the Circle. She also remembered fondly that Ser Brann and stood up in her defense more than once; she would not forget such kindness easily.

There were other more likely candidates than Ser Brann and that alone made her fleeting thoughts of a protector who respected her opinion all the more foolish. Solona sighed heavily as she paced the hallway alone. The cold and the damp permeated her robe and she shivered slightly. The First Enchanter rubbed absently at her arms trying to bring some warmth back into her numb skin. She closed her eyes briefly and shuddered as the images of the dead still lingered there. She could see the children, torn and bloated corpses struck down before having a chance to grow. Or the women terrified as they were tortured by Uldred and his lackeys. Lastly she recalled the one or two scenes of mage and Templar lovers dying together. They had been in different places, but always the same. '_Together in death_,' she thought with a heavy sadness.

What a novel concept. Mages and Templars could actually fall in love much like Wynne and Ser Otto. Thinking on that subject was always painful for Solona though she never fully comprehended why it bothered her so greatly.

The familiar scraping of armor across the stone floor called her attention away from her thoughts as she straightened herself to her full height. When her eyes opened she could see the newest patrol passing by and it caused her heart to ache for the other mages. It was unspoken, but understood that as soon as the new and proper Knight-Commander was in residence that their respite would be lifted. The second worst night of Solona's life had been calling all the mages and senior mages to warn them that things remained unchanged in the Tower; for the better or for the far worse. The look of hopelessness and misery were echoed in her own face as she gazed on the women.

This was their life and their cage, not even gilded. It was simply a cage from which they would never escape. Yet, some had tried to end their own lives shortly after the horrific events following the Bloodmage attack. None had been successful as of yet, though two had been very close. Solona sat with those women and tried to offer them words of comfort that didn't sound quite so empty. However, what could one truly say that would make a bit of difference?

She felt eyes on her and Solona turned slowly, she braced herself for the leering of Ser Carroll. Instead she found a pair of amber eyes staring back at her. The mage looked at Ser Cullen with confusion. Had she been summoned again? He said nothing for a few shot heartbeats, as if he were contemplating the course of conversation.

"Ser Cullen?" She queried when it became obvious that he would not speak first, "Do you have need of me? Has something happened?"

His gaze narrowed on her face for a moment. His posture was ridged and he seemed as immense as his armor for a single moment in time. She searched his face for some sort of indicator as to his presence as they had nothing to discuss that Solona was aware of. Her dislike for him had not abated in the slightest and she assumed by the way he stared at her that it was reciprocated.

"You were missing from the evening meal," he responded in a guff and accusatory tone that caused the hair on the back of her neck to prickle with indignation.

Solona forced herself to draw a long and slow breath. Though it was a challenge to keep the cruel words from spilling forth like so much bile, the mage kept her voice respectful. The Tower was a mass of whirling emotion that could erupt like a violent volcano at any moment without warning. And, Solona's behavior was the standard to which the others were kept. She also was painfully aware that the Knight-Commander could and would punish her given the opportunity.

"Yes," she said as neutrally as she was able with a slight nod of her head. "I needed to review how the mages are to be separated into classes. As you know we have received word that three more children have shown magical talent. They should arrive at the Tower shortly." It was both the truth and a lie. Solona teetered on the edge of politeness, for her nerves were already strained. The stress was beginning to invade her dreams more frequently, and she had lost a good stone of weight. The tasks, though necessary, she had buried herself in had caused her to work her body to the point of exhaustion. It was rapidly becoming the only way Solona could gain a moment's peace in the fade.

She knew that the others were not faring much better. It weighed upon her that she was failing and more than once the self-deprecating notion that Wynne would have kept things together better than herself caused her to second-guess each choice she made.

"They will not arrive for another fortnight," his eyes wandered her face for a moment and Solona held the irrational fear that he could see her lying to him. Yet, she felt no need to make him privy to her thoughts.

Solona barely held back a sigh.

"Ser Cullen, the tower and all within have suffered a heavy blow. A great deal of loss is being dealt with that we might spring forth from this tragedy stronger. However, we now will have new mages coming into a torn Circle of Magi. This will be a hard transition from all these children have ever known."

"They will get used to it given time."

The blasé way he stated the words caused Solona's temper to flare and she could not stop the flow of vehemence that dripped form her words. "An animal gets used to being beaten in time, Ser. That does not mean it is correct."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Whatever he had been about to say died on his lips and he gave her a hard look that left Solona thinking she was an apprentice again that had been caught with Ser Otto trying to save herself from the clutches of Ser Carroll. She hated how soiled and worthless this Templar could make her feel though she had done nothing wrong.

His jaw clenched tightly and she could see a tick in the muscles in his jaw. "I can see that Ser Carroll is not bothering you, good evening First Enchanter." He spat her title like it was the dirtiest of curses and strode past her. She watched him leave in a mixture of disbelief and regret.

The woman trembled now from more than the cold at his words. Left in the wake of his departure she could not help but scold herself internally for her temper. Solona could hardly grasp that he had come to check on her because he was concerned for her person? She looked down at the gray stone as if it held the answer to a barely formed question. He could gain nothing from watching over her, for she owed him nothing in obligation. So, why then, had he bothered? When she lifted her eyes again, she was still alone in the cold hallway and terribly confused.

OoOoOo

Four days later, as she skirted around the areas Ser Cullen as well as Ser Carroll patrolled, Solona still walked the fine line between order and chaos. Petty squabbles had arisen now that the rooms had been cleaned and cleansed. Initiates and members of the chantry poured through the hallways like water running in a river. Everywhere Solona turned the glaringly bright symbol of the maker flashed off their robes and she felt her resentment toward others grow daily. She was inexplicably angry at the drop of a hat and she had yet to force herself to deal with the cause.

The children had nightmares that were fewer and less intense in nature. It boded well for the rest of the Tower who breathed a collective sigh of relief when the children made it through the worst period without turning into abominations. Solona ran a hand through her limp hair. She was in desperate need of a bath having put the cellars back together with the help of Petra. Vermin had moved in and most of the ingredients for potion making had been unsalvageable which would mean that someone would have to leave the Circle to fetch new ones. That also meant a full guard would be sent with the poor mage in light of recent events. Solona calculated that it might take up to a month to procure all they needed without being gouged in price in the process.

She bade Petra farewell as the other mage left for the noon meal. Solona still had little urge to eat, and though she and Greagoir had coordinated the needs of the Tower; they had not been in each other's company at all. If she was not mistaken, they both preferred it that way. They were both reminded painfully of someone they lost and had both loved in different ways every time they laid eyes on one another.

She distracted herself by examining the strands of her hair. "Perhaps it is time to cut it?" She mused out loud to herself.

"That would be such a shame," a voice whispered menacingly behind her ear.

Solona felt her heart drop into her feet, and her throat tightened almost as if by instinct. Her eyes widened as she felt an iron grip enclose around her other wrist. For a moment she froze as lips brushed the side of her head and Ser Carroll inhaled the scent of her hair.

"A wash couldn't hurt you though. What have you been up to?" The tone was deceptively amused, but Solona could feel the hard edge there. He had not forgotten that she had rescued herself from him, and neither had she.

"Ser Carroll," she kept her voice low, for any higher and she feared it would crack. "I am protected by the Knight-Commander." She prayed he would see sense and leave.

"Ah yes," he murmured as he nibbled on her exposed neck. Solona twitched in revulsion. "You are the 'First-Enchanter' now. What a title you gone and gotten for yourself!" His hold on her wrist became punishing and Solona winced in reaction to the pain. "Haven't you heard my dear Solona," he whispered her name and it caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand up in alert to the present threat.

"Heard what?" She asked knowing full well it was what he expected of her, but also that he would not leave until he was placated. He was brazen to risk accosting her given her status and the time of day, but he would not be this foolhardy without a reason he felt benefited him.

"They are announcing the new Knight-Commander today," he said with gleeful satisfaction as he nipped at her neck. Solona fought the urge to pull away lest it provoke him to do far worse. "The messenger arrived this morning and Greagoir announces the man tonight. For all we know you could already be mine, wouldn't that be wonderful?"

Solona thought wonderful was nothing more than a mockery of the nightmare she would endure at his hands. Each day would be a living agony that might tempt her to cross the fade into the Black City if it meant escape from him. Yet, she would be trapped because she could not abandon the other mages. Was this how Wynne had felt all those years ago?

"And if I am not," Solona broached carefully, "then this is still a violation of my status as protected and First Enchanter."

She held a breath as he pushed her roughly, face first, into the nearby stone wall which bit cruelly into her flesh.

"Why must you insist on angering me?" Ser Carroll gave a mock sigh. "Here I am, trying to give you the good news and you say such unkind things," he hissed as he twisted her arm behind her back. Solona cried out at the pain. He leaned closer pushing her face more into the stone, and Solona could feel the soft flesh bruise. "You had better pray that I am the Knight-Commander, little Amell. Because if I am not-"

His words were cut off by the sound of footsteps approaching and the chant being repeated. Solona felt her eyes prickle in tears of relief for the Chantry being present in the tower. All of her earlier anger toward them evaporated as Ser Carroll swiftly released her.

"If you mention a word of this," he threatened with insane eyes, "someone else will pay dearly for it. Petra perhaps?" He chuckled darkly to himself.

Solona thought her the blood in her veins had been replaced with ice water as the fear flowed thickly through her system. She knew he couldn't harm her directly, but indirectly there were the children and those she called friends to take his wrath upon. She clenched her teeth in defeat and pulled away from him as quickly as possible.

Solona walked in a fog passed the Chantry followers whose chant no longer sounded like the song of freedom. Ser Carroll had told her the new Knight-Commander would be named tonight. It had been expected, but now she did not know what to think. Belonging to Ser Carroll was a fate worse than death, and some other Templar might not be much better. She lamented over her fate, and in the next breath cursed herself for being so selfish.

Her world became a waking haze of which time passed too quickly for her to realize. She stared blankly at vast library collection where she wasted so much of her time as an innocent trying to escape through written words because this world seemed far to cruel to be true.

Solona had not moved for hours when the Templars came to collect her. There were seven of them in full armor as they marched down the Library floor toward her, a sign of respect for Knight-Commander Greagoir. She offered no words of acknowledgement. She simply walked toward the main hall with all the intent of a woman marching toward the hangman's noose.

They opened the doors for her, for Solona would have to take part and witness the changing of the head of power in the Circle tower. It was more out of custom than anything else. She had no say in who would control her life now. Damn the Chantry and it's ways. Greagoir had already been speaking when they arrived, it would seem that they had found the First Enchanter a touch too late.

"Now that I am relieved of command, I ask you to respect and uphold the code of the Templar order. I ask that the same respect you have for me that it may be given to your new Knight Commander."

Greagoir's eyes caught Solona's and for a moment he seemed hesitant.

"Ser C-" Solona closed her eyes and prayed the Maker to kill her swiftly. The blood rushed to her ears and sound was drowned out for a few moments in time. Solona felt her vision swim before her, and she grew light headed. She felt herself start to take many rapid breaths, half-terrified she would swoon.

Seconds seemed like hours to the First Enchanter as her new fate flashed before her eyes. The horrors of belonging to Ser Carroll filled her every thought. The endless nights and tortuous days spent under his control, in his bed. She almost sobbed in front of a room full of Templars.

"As always serving with you," Greagoir's voice finally grew louder than the deafening screams in her mind, "men and women will be the best memories of my life. It was and always will be my honor."

Cheers erupted in the hall as the Templars gave Greagoir the respect they felt he deserved. Solona knew not where he would go nor what would become of him. She felt sick to her stomach, as she tried to hide the crippling terror welling inside her. She waited until the Templars had filed out. Greagoir watched her impassively.

"Guard these mages well, Mage Amell," he said stoically. "Wynne would have wanted it that way."

Solona nodded mutely.

"And, it would be in your best interest not to wait to be summoned tonight," he offered after a moment's hesitation. "It would look better if you went of your own volition."

Look better, he said, as if Solona had a choice or a care of how things would look. She bit her tongue until it bleed and the unshed tears pricked her eyes like acid.

"Maker willing, he will treat you well." With those parting words Greagoir left into the darkness of the night, leaving a shattered First Enchanter to pick up the pieces of her world once more.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Thank you, thank you to all my reviewers. You guys and gals make world go round!**

**Rated M for mature themes.**

**I own nothing.**

**-Update- In regard to SomeStudent, who left a rather scathing review, while I understand your points. I must point out that I have done everything within the bounds of this site to DISCOURAGE anyone ages 10 and under to read this fiction. However, I obviously am unable to control the age of whom visits this piece. I believe that the responsibility of the individual and their parents/guardians. Or that the minds of people ages 6-26 are easily manipulated, I both agree and disagree. While I do agree with your point of minors and teens are still learning and of course growing (to include their moral views), I in no way think that a full fledged adult is suddenly rendered incapable of making a choice by reading this fanfiction. Or that this fanfiction will suddenly take away their ability to decide what is right, wrong, or socially acceptable.**

**To address your other prime concern, no I am not promoting a 'seduction myth' and make it clear that Solona as the main character does not find being forced to submit a suddenly wonderful thing. What I sought to imply was that she was not being intentionally harmed. 'Not of disfavor' means that it was not of disapproval or dislike. That in no way should be taken to mean she wanted it or 'deserved' it. Simply that the action did not cause harm, pain, ect. It could have easily been a startled 'eep' for all intents and purposes.**

**While I commend you wanting to be a DV law professional, and in that I am sincere, it does not mean that everyone in the world is out to paint the victims in a poor light. Now, you might think my reply harsh and I invite you to send me a PM if you would like to do so, but I have stated before that this contains mature themes that might be upsetting to some. I encourage those that find the material unpalatable to STOP reading. If you do not think this work is well thought out or written, then I respectfully disagree with your opinion. But it is your opinion and you are entitled to it. Any other readers that wish to express concerns or comments are always welcomed to send me a PM, which I will respond to as soon as I am able.**

**However, in light of the misconception, I have made certain to re-write the parts of Solona to more clearly reflect that she is not suddenly 'alright' with this happening. She is more or less sacrificing herself for the other mages. **

**Yours truly,**

**The Author.**

OoOoOo

A single mage kept vigil in a room filled to the brim with memories that threatened to overwhelm her at any passing moment. Sad eyes, gazed listlessly at the back of what would likely be the chamber of her life's continued torment. Her neck muscles protested, but her head remained firmly locked in place. Down trod and outcast, that was the true meaning of being a mage was it not?

She prayed, though she doubted the Maker even bothered to listen. She begged for reprieve from this life and the safety of the other mages. She pleaded for even a sliver of the justice everyone else had. Even the city-born elves were given more freedom than her kind. They were cursed, but much desired. A sick and twisted sense of dark satisfaction filled her at the knowledge that magic-born would be forever wanted even though they were feared.

Her magic tittered and whispered around her like a self-soothing invisible shroud. And the single desperate thought passed her mind to wish that she had never studied the accursed healing magic. She cursed that her talents lay in repairing the damage done to men by enemies and themselves. Perhaps if she had been of any other school of magic she might have been spared- but no, she knew much better. Solona understood keenly that she would have died or fallen prey to Ser Carroll or his ilk long ago.

She could rebel in every way known to man and the Maker, but she would never be able to change what she was.

She was Solona Amell, Spirit Healer, and First Enchanter of the Circle of Ferelden. As she would remain until she drew her last breath upon this forsaken world.

As prudence for her role required, she'd taken Greagoir's advice to heart, knowing that it came from the last vestiges of his love for Wynne. Though she was young, she held no foolish illusions that it had been out of kindness for her well-being. She could feel the terror and repulsion snaking through her blood with each new heartbeat. The entire Tower had been an odd combination of subdued celebration. With the appointing of the new Knight-Commander, things in the tower were to return to their former 'glory' effective immediately.

Solona felt the shudder rattle her thin frame as she tried to block out the visions of her sister mages being picked over like expensive baubles. She touched a pale and trembling hand to the bed post, trying to quell the rising bile at the back of her throat. Her hair, still damp from the bath she'd forced herself to take, clung cloyingly to her shoulders. It was not the first time, she knew with the same certainty that the sun would rise on the morrow, and would not be the last time she was imprisoned in her skin. Bound by duty and the sense of obligation to the others under her protection, this made her the ever-so-useful sacrifice.

She was too numb to feel, and yet, too terrified to do much else except breathe. A soft whimper escaped her partially parted lips. What little perfumed oils had been left in the wake of the massacre had been used to scent Solona's neck and other key places on her body. Petra had helped her dress and arranged her locks appealingly; much as she had the night Solona forsook her age-given protection to warm the bed of Ser Otto. The thought of his loss still left her chest slightly tight. He had, by all of the Tower's standards, been very kind to her.

Her sorrow was short lived.

The sound of metal footsteps approaching caused her to bow her head lest a wave of dizziness overtake her. Solona forced herself to remain calm and to remember despite the conflicting emotions clouding her thoughts, that she was still the First Enchanter. Her actions or lack thereof harmed far more than just herself.

It is the longest moment in her short life as the door creeks open. Solona kept her back straight, but her head is bowed to avoid this even seconds longer if the option is there.

"First Enchanter," an all too familiar and oil voice scrapped across her senses.

'_Dear Maker'_, she screamed trapped within the confines of her mind, '_No. Anyone, please, anyone but him.'_

Solona felt the very air in her lungs freeze and take her heart with it, only to have it plummet to her stomach. It was a fate far worse than death that she had been thrust into. Her body refused to move and she is almost grateful that she does not have to look upon his sinister face.

"Ah, my little Amell," Ser Carroll's voice whips over her like a bath of hot oil, burning her to the core.

She trembled slightly at the knowledge she belonged to the _thing_ speaking to her. She heard his steps as he approached her and her skin crawled of its own volition. His hands on her would be too much to bear and she prayed she could detach herself from this.

"You probably think you've gotten away, don't you?" His lips touched the outer shell of her ear leaving the hotness of his breath on her skin.

Solona felt ill at ease. She did not understand what his words were supposed to mean.

"I'm not put off in the slightest," his armored hands traced up her side to punishingly grip her hips. He ground his pelvis into her backside and she hissed out in pure instinct. She did not have to see him to know he was smirking as his lips kissed her still damp hair. "I have nothing but time, dearest one, and you and all your little mage friends have nowhere to run."

Rage boiled underneath her skin coupled with her fear. Solona shoved her elbows back and succeeded in knocking him slightly off balance as she escaped his clutches. Her eyes flashed with the song of her enchantment, the green swirling magic served to remind them both of where they stood. He was correct in a sense. Solona already knew she could never leave the Tower, but his words so callously thrown at her had sparked her limited act of courage.

He was not the Knight-Commander, and as such, was not given right to her body.

"You will not touch me," she stated lowly.

His intense stare deepened as did his obvious displeasure. "Perhaps not yet, but you are mine Amell. You always will belong to me, despite tedious things like _rank._ I despise waiting. However, I will bend your body to mine as I shatter that stubborn little will of yours."

He closed his eyes as he savored the words like another would savor fine wine. Solona nearly gagged at the sight. She could clearly see the arousal he felt over the very thought of breaking her.

"Leave," she said brashly as she dared the chance of punishment. Magic seeped from her like rivulets of rainwater cascading all around the room.

Ser Carroll leered at her sickeningly. "Don't try to threaten me," he moved to quickly for her to avoid as his grip started to crush her wrists.

She struggled as she attempted to pull herself free in vain.

"I am protected," she cried out in alarm.

"Yes," Ser Carroll acknowledged with a thoughtful look alighting his insane eyes. "And he's not here. Is he?"

"You'll be punished. Cast into prison!"

"For what, my Amell?" His face twisted into a look of mock innocence. "Stopping you from using your magic on me?"

Her face was aghast. "I never-"

"Who would believe you?" He replied icily. His lips captured hers before she could register what was happening and she felt her panic soar. He pulled back and stared down at her with his cruel intentions for the world to see. "It's regrettable, but I did warn you. I've been so patient with you." Ser Carroll gave an exaggerated sigh.

Solona's mind whirled in confusion, fear, heartache, and anger. His lips curved into a lecherous smile.

Ser Carroll leaned near her again, and Solona turned her head away from him. His lips kissed the side of her neck and paused at her ear.

"I'll simply have to play pretend until I capture the real thing."

Solona's eyes widened in sheer horror. "No," she whispered.

His eyes light up at her reaction, his smile nearly gleeful. "I will of course let you know how Petra fares on the morrow."

His laughter trailed behind him leaving Solona to collapse where she had stood. The stone floor rushed to meet her knees which landed with a dull thud as she stared petrified at the thought of what Petra might endure for her sake. The torrent of mental images, each worse than the last caused a dam to break within her, having succumbed to the mounting pressure. The emotions that had simmered so close to the surface spilled over into hot tears that cascaded down her cheeks. She cursed and sobbed at the unfairness of this life as she pounded her fists on the stone. Soon the crying turned to mere hiccups and she hid her face in shame though no one was present. It was shameful to the young woman to cry and do nothing to correct the situation.

She wracked her thoughts for a solution as she scrubbed away the traces of her tears with the back of her hand. Even being the First Enchanter did not permit Solona to intervene unless it was obvious that the mage in question was being forced physically. The Chantry in all their kindness did not consider coercion to be incorrect when in respect to mage-kind. She knew that Petra would never voice the atrocities committed against her mind and body this or any other night. Time had bent every senior mage to become accustomed if not expectant of such cruelties. This was their life and they knew no other.

Yet, once, long ago Solona had known a life where the sun shined on her skin and the wind ruffled her hair. She was not forced to try and feel the sun by stretching weary hands to the windowsill hoping to soak up a single beam of warmth on her skin.

Viciously, she cast out the thoughts as if they were a vile poison. For in truth, such thoughts would get her nowhere. Quickly she turned her attention back to the matter of sparing Petra as much pain as possible. However, her hands were summarily tied. Solona could not make Ser Carroll leave the other mage alone and Petra did not have the benefit of a Protector. Solona froze at the last thought.

The First Enchanter could not solicit a Protector, nor give themselves to anyone other than the Knight-Commander. Do be so foolish would only result in the deaths of multiple people. She watched the candle light flicker for a moment more in deep thought.

If she could but warn Petra, leave this room and find her dear friend…

Solona picked herself up from the floor stiffly. Perhaps if she were to hurry, she would be able to come back before the new Knight-Commander retired for the night. Hope sung in her heart, undeterred by the harsh reality of her world for a single moment, as she turned and started for the door. Her hand grasped the cold handle as she jerked the door open.

She blinked, and gave a small gasp of surprise as amber eyes caught hers. Solona took an involuntary step backward.

"Ser Cullen?" She questioned for lack of anything else to say in the moment. Her eyes darted past him, searching in the vain hope that Petra would be passing by this part of the Tower, or that the Knight-Commander would be arriving soon so that she might fulfill her duty though she loathed it, and leave.

His face was nearly impassive, but his eyes were looking at her so strangely. For a fleeting moment, Solona thought he actually looked pleased. She had never seen him look anything like he did.

"First Enchanter," he said, though his words were carefully guarded.

Solona felt her agitation soar to new heights, as her thoughts were consumed with protecting Petra. Her time as a Circle mage prompted her to fill the silence that stretched between them causing her to feel all the more impatient. "I hope you are well," she demurred by way of small talk. Her hair, which had been so carefully arranged, was likely a mess, but Solona could care less what the likes of Ser Cullen and his disdainful view of her kind thought.

He stared down at her imperiously with his face betraying nothing. "As well as can be expected," he replied neutrally.

Solona merely nodded. Her pulse leapt as he pushed past her into the room. She stumbled to back away in time, lest she be run over. Her brows puckered in confusion. Was she to be watched by Ser Cullen until the Knight-Commander arrived?

"Close the door," he ordered nearly gently.

The mage felt the bitter tang of apprehension tighten in her stomach. She did not think she could tolerate another tongue lashing from the likes of him. Though she did not wish to, Solona closed the door and turned toward the Templar, who was in the process of shedding his armor.

Understanding dawned on Solona as to why he would be disrobing and to her chagrin, her cheeks flushed. She looked away as he stared at her. The mage did not understand why he was watching her so intently. Dislike him she might, but she would not harm him. Even if she wanted to, the repercussions would be far too great.

When the last of his armor had been removed and stored in the proper place, he sat on the bed and waited. Solona tugged her lower lip between her teeth in thought. She said nothing, though inside she was squirming to get away. She wanted out of this room and as far away from any Templar as she could get.

His eyes became hooded slightly as he held out his hand to her. "Come," he commanded.

She hated this part. Solona abhorred having to give her body so freely because it came as part of her station. She would pull herself away from this, as she had forced herself to give into Ser Otto and Ser Greagoir both.

Her throat went dry and she pushed herself to quell the trembling in her limbs as she slowly moved forward to comply. Her mind still raced with worry over Petra and the concern that this night brought for every mage in the Tower. The children, thank the Maker, would be spared. However, every harrowed mage, few though there were now, were fair game to the lusty advances of the Templars.

The screams this night would take on a new horror. However, there might yet be hope if Ser Cullen were in charge of the Templars. From what little she had ever had the displeasure of seeing of him, he was a dedicated member of the Chantry and abided by the rules. That was almost more than Solona had truly dared hope for.

She swallowed hard through the building tension as she drew closer with each footstep. Solona could not help but feel as a young girl again being caught by the Templar with pure repugnance radiating in his eyes. Her skin tightened in apprehension of the act that was surely to follow. Her experience leant it to be an unpleasant deed that was best over quickly.

The First Enchanter gently laid a trembling hand in the grasp of the Knight-Commander. In her mind's eye she could vividly see this as a union akin to marriage, both their parts done out of duty and necessity. Her life was no longer her own, not that it had been from the moment she was known to be a cursed mage. The first blazing touch of his warm skin upon hers caused Solona to draw a breath. She attempted to remind herself that this was just like every other time that made her stomach coil and her skin crawl. She turned her face away from him as her other hand made the familiar trek to the clasps the held her robes in place. Her embarrassment spiked to new heights and internally she cursed him for her fate. Though she did consider this a far kinder sort of prison than being held at the clutches of Ser Carroll.

She considered death kinder than Ser Carroll.

"No," he said harshly, and Solona jumped slightly her gaze locking with his.

He looked so predatory watching her, that it reminded her vaguely of Ser Carroll, but the hunger burning in the depths of his amber orbs seemed intimidating for some other reason.

The hand not holding hers snuck around the back of her robe, and pushed her closer.

"I'll take care of it," he stated lowly and Solona did not know what to do as he gently bore her to the bed.

She complied with his request, though she still did not submit willingly mentally, she knew it was required of her for the other mages. Her gasp was not one of dis-favor, but surprise that he bothered to speak to her. It made her wish to fidget away from him. This act between them did not require speech and Solona wished to keep it that way. Her thoughts remained locked on Petra, and she tried to block out the thoughts of the nightmare her dear friend was sure to endure now that the First Enchanter had been delayed in warning her.

Solona prayed to a silent and uncaring Maker for forgiveness.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Thank you to those that have read, reviewed, or even given this story a second thought. I appreciate your time.**

**Please note: This is a mature story with very dark themes. Those that find such material disturbing, provoking memories, or in any way uncomfortable; I urge you to please stop reading. If you choose to continue reading, please know that I in no way condone acts of violence (physically, mentally, emotionally, or sexually) against anyone. **

**Rated M. I own nothing. Please enjoy.**

OoOoOo

The news came so quickly on the heels of her changed world, that Solona nearly lost her stomach contents. Six evenings now she had been called to serve the Knight Commander. What he hoped to accomplish by requesting her more, she knew not, but after each encounter she bathed in water heated to the point of scalding and scrubbed until her skin pinked. Even that was never enough to get rid of the lingering scent she imagined she carried.

Petra, the poor dear soul, had been unable to even speak with Solona for fear of reprisal. Yet, it had been Solona who had found her huddled and slightly bloodied in the farthest corner of what had been the infirmary. The pair had spoken naught a single syllable between them, however, their eyes had carried a wealth of emotion. Sorrow, heartbreak, loathing, self-hatred, hatred for the one who had caused this, and fear swirled heavily in gaze of each mage. With care, Solona helped to heal the physical wounds that were inflicted out of want for power, anger, and the want for revenge. The mental harm could not yet be touched for it was still too raw and fresh. Solona had learned long ago that no good ever came from agitating a still bleeding wound.

Touch was kept to a bare minimum as Petra shook and bit back sobs. Solona clenched her teeth, ready to gnash them in pure sympathetic anguish. Her own hands trembled as she brought healing poultices to cloth and tended the bruises combined with abrasions. She choked back any pity she might have felt without mercy. Petra was her friend and despite what had happened to her, did not deserve to be pitied for she would get through this.

Minutes slowly crawled into an hour until nearly every trace of the horrible event had been as removed from Petra as Solona could manage. A wordless thanks was given as Petra stumbled from the corner, and out the door. Though the First Enchanter longed to call out to her, longed to comfort her, there were no words that would do. Petra would never speak of it, while Solona would drown in her guilt from it.

The Black City be damned, the people of this world were already lost to corruption and vile acts. Shame filtered through Solona she recalled her own personal hell from the night prior. It caused her no small amount of pain to admit that part of her was grateful not to have endured what Petra had. The other part of her hated that she was relieved no matter what the circumstances might have been.

After that dreadful morning, Petra avoided Solona and there was no doubt in the First Enchanter's mind that it was out of self-preservation. Something that Solona could and would never begrudge. How could she? She knew that no matter what Ser Carroll did or said that some part of her would always feel responsible. He carried out the atrocious act, but Solona was the person her truly wished to harm. Petra was nothing more than an innocent victim caught in a tangled web that no mage could seem to escape.

Just as Solona, chained in obligation to her fellow mages and duty to her position could not escape even the set of amber eyes that watched her intently. Nor could she bar herself from his bed, and she did not know what to make of his want to have her near. Part of her assumed he hoped to breed her with an offspring to please the Chantry. It had been whispered, more than once, that Solona had not yet conceived for any of her partners by the braver Templars. Their idle whispers only enflamed her anger and distrust of anything with the symbol of Andraste.

What had been gratitude toward their heroic defense of the Tower had soon turned to ash in her mouth. Their lustful gazes on the few remaining mages and the cries in the night some in passion others in fear haunted Solona's every waking moment. Still, she forced herself with a strength she had not previously known she possessed to teach the Children and oversee coordinating the newest arrivals.

Maker help her, for each day she watched the young and innocent lambs come into a Tower of wolves. There would be no escape for them and no respite. Desire burned brightly in her heart to change their roles. If she could make people understand. If only they would look at the plight thrust upon people whose only true crime was being born; then surely things would change? But, no, she had walked that road before when Wynne still drew breath.

She wanted to hate the Knight-Commander for his role in all of this, just as she loathed the feel of his skin upon hers with a passion that threatened to consume her. However, she could tell by the dispassionate way he addressed her in public, and by how his gaze still seemed suspicious, that there was nothing between them that had not been borne of obligation. She had observed long ago that he was a pious if not slightly conceited Templar, but his devotion to the Chantry had been absolute from the start.

She was confident that should the Revered Mother command him to severe his own arm, he would do so without question. And while he never made a move to harm her, Solona could not bring herself to view that act as anything other than detestable.

They moved as a mockery of Wynne and Greagoire around the tower. Each played their part, nearly to perfection, but the act dropped behind closed doors when the candles had been snuffed. They held an uneasy truce to present a united front for the rest of the Circle to seek comfort in the stability they might provide.

That uneasy truce had been shaken to the very core, rendering Solona speechless for one candle-mark, when the Revered Mother in all her preposterous self-proclaimed glory had made the decision to send mages as aid for the King's army. It had come as a harsh blow to the First Enchanter who held a handful of mages lives in her inexperienced hands.

She had been called into the Knight-Commander's office. Forcibly she had been pulled from her latest research on warding the Tower more effectively against Demons even though the veil was thin due to the cluster of magic users present. Ser Brann had appeared genuinely apologetic for the circumstances as she was all but pushed through the heavy wood doors.

The first thing her eyes took in was Ser Cullen busily staring at a vellum and the eerie stillness that surrounded him. He did not bother to rise at her presence, nor did he deem it necessary to look at her.

"Close the door behind you," he commanded in clipped tones that had Solona instantly alert and wary.

Silently, she complied. She waited patiently as he dipped a quill in his ink well and penned a reply. Solona gazed curiously around the room, as she calmed her racing heart. She still ensured that she presented to very essence of what a First Enchanter should be. She seemed calm, composed, and thoughtful.

Inside she was aquiver with curiosity.

Finally, after torturous minutes had passed in silence only disturbed by the scratching of the tip of his pen across paper, Ser Cullen gazed at her with disinterest.

"I have received a notice from the Revered Mother that the mages are being called to assist in a counter-attack against Antiva. It would seem that word of our recent problems have spread to those that would seek to do Ferelden harm. The King has already mobilized a force to drive them back. I will be sending a few squadrons of Templars with the mages."

She stared at him mutely as her mind processed what he had just said. It could not be true. This must have been some sort of cruel jest. Solona blinked and watched him carefully as he blandly continued on about how she was to send every harrowed mage. That would not be possible. To send them into battle would be nothing short of a death sentence as so few remained alive already. To lose any more would ensure the Tower's destruction.

That both appealed and repulsed Solona. For while the mages currently in bondage would be freed through shuffling the mortal coil, it left the children completely without guidance as they navigated a world where demons howled at the doors every waking moment.

Her voice was pleading and her eyes beseeched him to use some of the influence he had been granted due to his station. "You cannot allow this."

"You will do as you are told, and that is the end of this discussion."

"I will not send my people to be slaughtered!" She shouted with such force that the very windows rattled for the space of a heartbeat.

"You watch your tongue," Ser Cullen bit back harshly with anger radiating from his gaze. "The mages are my charges. I will say-"

"No," she interrupted in fiery denial, "they are not your charges. They are _mine_. It is my duty to protect them _Ser_. Though protection means precious little when faced with a Templar."

"What do you mean?" His voice became dangerously quiet and Solona could feel the hairs prickle at the nape of her neck. Yet, she brashly chose to push onward for the lives that would be wasted just as surely as the sun would rise on the morrow.

"Do you not have eyes? Have your ears not borne witness to the screams of women who have no right to deny a Templar _anything?_ Your precious Chantry simpers that we may not be forced, but coercion, oh _that_ does not bother your ranks. We are only mages! You preach rights and treat us worse than animals. What need have you to respect us or leave us be if we do not fall into your beds hot and wanting? "

Unease filtered across his face, and Solona thought for a single moment that there may have been a touch of remorse as well. However, the expression was quickly locked away behind a steely mask of Templar resolve. "You exaggerate."

"Do I? Really? You have seen what happens to the Tranquil," she shouted as tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving her eyes red and swollen. "How many of your Templar brothers joke about tupping the neutralized 'animals'? How many times have you turned a blind eye to the frightened gazes of young girls," her breath came out in haphazard pants, "who only tried to make 'arrangements' to save themselves from such a brutal rape as the likes of you could never imagine?"

The accusation stood plainly between them and she could see his eyes widen in recognition of their first meeting. His face coiled into hard lines as his jaw clenched. Solona had made his undeniably angry, yet she felt no pleasure in the accomplishment. For this was not about one lone mage years ago, but about the two dozen or so that would suffer a needless death to appease some imagined slight to the King's honor.

Solona Amell had reached her breaking point.

"The rules of the Chantry are clear," he said slowly as he prowled around her akin to an angry cat. "We are not to question the wisdom of the Revered Mother who is blessed among all."

The mage gave a gesture of angry dismissal. "She is blessed amongst nothing if she allows such acts of violence and malice to continue against the mages. There is neither kindness nor prized Chantry mercy in this."

"You overstep your bounds, and I have been very lenient up to this point. However, you will never show such disrespect toward the Chantry again. Am I clear?"

Amber orbs burned into hers so sharply that Solona fought not to recoil, but she held fast to her conviction.

"I understand your meaning, Ser but I will not yield," the song of her magic burst to life as angry and uncontrolled as its mistress. "If you send those mages, they will die. They have neither the training nor the inclination to stay alive. Death is a release to a mage."

His eyes narrowed at her with thinly veiled spite. "Then I am showing them that prized 'Chantry mercy', as you call it."

"Send them and I will make sure that not one mage returns. Myself included."

He scoffed and the noise chaffed her ears to hear it. She seethed at his audacity as her dislike of him swirled dangerously close to hatred.

"You speak nonsense. You would never allow such a thing to occur."

She tilted her chin up in defiance. "Try me."

"I have every right to punish you to the fullest extent," he warned gruffly, "First Enchanter or not, you will receive a sound lashing."

"Then beat me," she half-hissed with vehemence. "Smite me. Starve me. Make me an example to the precious few remaining mages in your magical 'army'." Her voice dipped low for a moment. "But if you do that, know that no mage will willingly follow you. Oh, you may terrorize them, and you may even get them to battle. Need I remind you Ser Cullen that Templars are not the only ones that call fall upon the sword?"

"You dare threaten me?" His face grew red and splotched as he attempted to reign in his fury. Solona would have cowed had the issue at hand not been so dire.

She raised her gaze and stared at him calmly. "I dare a great many things when I am the only thing standing between the Revered Mother and an empty Tower because every mage has found a new home in an unmarked shallow grave by the wayside."

She watched with some small amount of satisfaction as his eyes turned cold and his mouth closed. Without waiting to be dismissed, and knowing she would pay dearly for it later, Solona departed from the room. Upon her exit, she slammed the door hard enough to make the candle sconces in the wall rattle in the wake of her fury.

She stalked the halls with her staff banging gently at her back, a steady rhythm that nearly brought her a moment's peace until she rounded the stairwell and came face-to-face with Circle Chapel. Bitter tears tempered her anger as she gazed upon the Maker's symbol. Something that others saw as a comfort in times of darkness only served to remind the mage of the shackles of her life.

"If you are so wonderful, then tell me, what did any mage ever do that would have deserved this?" She made a cold gesture around the room. A hollow and disillusioned laugh escaped her as the room remained silent.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: WARNING contains mature themes, please use your better judgment when reading this fanfiction. I do not condone violence, coercion, or any act against another person either physical, verbal, psychological, or sexual. I advise you to stop reading should such content become upsetting or too graphic.**

**Thank you for reviewing. **

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He had her whipped at daybreak. The lingering notes of his anger were still heavy in her ears as they led her bound to a wooden pillar in the courtyard. A symbol of Andraste was carved with great skill and care on its face. The sun kissed the symbol with the first pink rays of sunlight. The mage stole a brief moment to stare in unabashed awe at seeing the sunrise in the first time since her capture without a pane of glass separating her from the world around her. Solona fought back a sob of bitter resentment.

Beauty, so achingly close to her, and now she would be stripped from her shoulders to her waist for trying to save the shambles of her people. She refused to allow a single tear to escape her eyes as avoided the eyes of her fellow mages. They had been forced to attend her punishment. She held her head high and walked past the rows of Templars who wore various expressions with as much dignity as was left to her.

The Maker, a cold being with no ore mercy she imagined, remained expectedly silent during her pleas in the night for mercy. There was never mercy; she ought to have known that by now.

Rough hands grabbed her and shoved her, face first, toward the pillar. She felt the cold steel at the edge of her robe, and the tug followed by a ripping sound. The slightly chilled morning air laid a gentle caressed across her skin. Solona shivered in spite of herself, before pulling all her thoughts and feelings down within her mind.

She would not give him the satisfaction of crying out.

"Mages," Cullen began in a deep and resonating voice, "are a danger to the land, as well as themselves."

Solona focused on the spot directly in front of her eyes. Faceless Templars tied her hands around the pillar. The rope bit and stung her flesh, but she said nothing. They tied it tighter than necessary, but she had hardly expected anything more. There was nary a pitying glance among the supposed staunch heroes of the tower.

"There are some that would seek to disobey Chantry edict. This is absolutely forbidden. Even those," he paused and she felt his eyes upon her once more, "that voice even the barest hint of a threat toward our revered order must be punished. Your first Enchanter stands before you to receive correction for the error of her ways. Let this be a lesson to you all. 10 lashes."

The whistle, shrill and haunting, of the lash slicing the air warned her it was coming only a fraction of a second before pain alighted her nerves. Solona drew in a deep breath, teeth clenched to ward away the impending scream building in her throat.

Never. She'd never concede. The lives of the mages were at stake.

The second had her clawing at the pillar until her finger nails broke and splinters wedged into the tender flesh of her finger pads. Pain to take away the nauseating pain the lash bore.

The third lash had her grunting out in pain.

By the fourth the bubble burst and the pain was too strong to ignore. Instinct had her channeling her magic to repair the torn and bleeding skin.

"15 lashes!" Cullen barked in outrage. "Should you choose to defy me again _Amell _it will be 20." His very voice grated on her ears.

She had turned her head toward him, tears hot and shameful on her face. She pressed her cheek hard against the pillar as the whistling broke through the air once more and the lash tore through flesh, warm blood flowing from its destructive path.

"I won't-" she whispered hoarsely though nearly blinding pain. Her anguish ladled mind muddled over words that she could and had to say.

It had to be spoken. This was madness. This was hell. This was the Circle. This was Ferelden. Even mages did not deserve to be slaughtered like dogs.

Stunning, glorious, and bittersweet silence echoed all around.

"Hold!" Cullen ordered sharply.

Solona blinked her eyes, her sight had become clouded with the song of her magic, she had neither the want nor the inclination to control the healing that bubbled forth from her. It knit back together the separated flesh, though the blood continued to dry upon her back as the orange streaks of the sun rising touched down over those present.

Damn him.

Damn the Chantry.

She could tell he'd come closer by the feel of his energy near her. She loathed being with him, yet, it was impossible not to know it was him

"If you are asking for mercy, you shall receive none." He said it lowly, and she was struck by the thought that he was actually trying not to make her lose face. She nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all. He was forcing her to be whipped for daring to speak out against the Chantry's homicidal notion of war.

She shook her head, and had felt the perspiration trickle down her temple. "I know better than to ask for mercy from you," she replied honestly, her tone conveying such deadened feeling she felt him pull back.

The clank of his gauntlet tightening caused her to shake.

"I won't allow you send them," she whispered back forcefully, her tone was steel and grace.

"20 lashes!" He ordered quietly. "You allow nothing _First Enchanter._ You must learn your place."

The whip struck her back once more, and Solona cried out. She felt fury at the situation and herself for the moment of weakness.

The next blow landed and she howled her reply like an angry cat. "I know my place!" She cried as the pitch escalated. "It is to _protect_ the mages." She panted as she hugged the pillar for support with what little strength she possessed.

Her eyes swirled magic as she looked up at the blur that was Ser Cullen without guile.

"What is yours?" She queried brokenly.

Silence, separated only by her screams, echoed across the courtyard as blow after blow rained down on her.

"25 lashes!" Cullen growled.

"Sir? Perhaps she has learned-?"

"I said 25 lashes. Or do you require a lesson in your place as well."

Solona could not deny her growing resentment for the Chantry, and for Ser Cullen; her supposed protector.

"No Sir," a voice she recognized as Ser Brann mumbled hesitantly.

"I won't send them," she said quietly.

Time and thought blurred into a haze of anguish and the screeching of her own voice against her ears. Over and over she repeated her denial. Over and over the whip struck without mercy and the strength of the blows never wavered. Each was as excruciating as the last. Around the 21 lash, she was reduced to pitiful sobs as her throat could no longer communicate her refusal.

22, and she could hear the other mages openly cry out for the Knight-Commander to rethink his harsh punishment.

23 and even the Templars began to object that he might kill her if he continued.

"Chantry law is chantry law," he said stated angrily.

24 came and the lash swung back and dazed her as she slumped to the ground, taking the splinters that forced themselves into her already abused flesh.

25 and the world went dark.

OoOoOo

The world swayed gently, and for a moment the sting had been numbed to the point she could feel nothing. Heavy steps on stone created a soothing and constant melody. The pull of gravity weighed upon Solona as she fought her way to beyond the barest edge of consciousness. Her eyes fluttered and her arms twitched as the pain set in. She whimpered as she tried to reign in her senses. Panic laced the few scattered thoughts she possessed.

"Sh," a male voice whispered and she was pulled closer. "It is done now."

The voice sounded warm and quite, akin to the tears she shed as she processed the cold air upon her wounds.

"You are safe now." The voice offered with conviction.

That was a lie. She was never safe. She would never be safe due to what she was. Due to where she was.

"Don't-" she muttered with a tongue thick and troublesome to control.

"Save your strength, you should not speak," the concerned and gruff reply chided.

"Don't send them," she whispered opening puffy and swollen eyes. The world around her proved to be too bright and she winced back in pain. "Please."

"I can do nothing, the Revered Mother has given her orders," Cullen's voice was hard and forceful once more.

"If it were your men? Would you be so quick to sacrifice lives?" Solona edged trying to twist out of his arms, but too weak to do so. She wanted nothing to do with him. She could not abide his touch. A pang of sorrow beat from her heart that their truce would never come to light again. Her anxiety mounted over the realization that the fragile peace between Templars and Mages would be shattered until her dying day.

She felt him tense, her gaze landed on him with the sad look of already born disappointment and resentment. Though, not wholly directed at him, his part in this impending slaughter could not be forgotten or forgiven.

His amber eyes betrayed nothing as he kicked open the door to the bed they shared. Solona felt disgust well within her that he might call upon her to serve him in her present condition. Shame and anger warred bitterly within her.

Instead he lays her gently, as if she were made of precious glass, upon the sheets and turns to leave.

Tears of failure and anguish roll down her cheeks quickly. Solona has never despised her position, a place where she cannot even save a handful of mages, more than this one breath in time.

She was so consumed in her grief she failed to hear him return. His face unreadable, eyes that gave away nothing of what he was thinking as she felt shamed before him again. Time seemed to turn backward and she was the frightened young girl caught trying to save herself from a world of depravity by choosing the lesser of two evils.

"It means that much to you, does it?" He asked stoically.

"How can you even ask such a thing?" She whispers angrily.

"I shall write to the Revered Mother on the morrow. I will tell her of your opinion that the mages would not survive combat. I shall also emphasize your adamant refusal of her order." Ser Cullen spoke lowly. "I would not expect much, including leniency, were I you." The Knight-Commander stated without feeling as he left Solona staring at the space he had occupied and wondering if this wasn't some demon's trick of the fade.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hi! Sorry for the long gap in updates! Here we go again. Thank you to all those that have read and reviewed! I appreciate it.**

**Rated M. Mature themes, suggestions, and may be unsuitable for some. If you find this story not to your liking, I strongly urge you to stop reading. I own nothing.**

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Her audacity at daring to defy the Chantry in any fashion was not well met. Solona had been allowed treatment for her injuries, much to her surprise considering what leniency had been showed to her in the past. If daring to defy meant twenty-five lashes, then she shuddered to imagine what might have befallen her had she done so publicly and not behind the privacy of closed doors. Her sister mages bit back tears and muttered hash curses against the Knight-Commander, but never allowed their feelings of rebellion to grow much louder than a whisper for fear of reprisal.

She tried in vain to hold back cries of pain as they treated her wounds. The smell of elf-root, ground and wet with its earthy scent, clung to her skin. They dressed the worst of the wounds with a potent poultice.

"It will minimize the scaring," Petra offered gently. Solona already knew well what it would do. She had studied the healing arts since she'd first been confined to live out her days in meager hellish existence. They were honoring her; she understood what they could only communicate through action. To openly support her would have been more than a fool's folly and her suffering would have been for naught. She would be whipped again possibly, or worse the mage that spoke out of turn would suffer a fate worse than the death each of them silently prayed for but never sought. Their touches were light, conveying sorrow and sympathy; and eyes that did not quite meet hers when she allowed herself to let the tears flow.

Mages were not allowed to congregate like this, it was expressly warned against. She valued the risk they took, and thanked them by not flinching away from their prodding fingers and tortuous touches. The first Enchanter could not help but think of a wounded bird she once saw, long ago when the thought of being a mage never entered her mind a time when innocence prevailed. Her mother had allowed her to keep the creature, too young and small to understand that it was expected to die. There on the dirt path near their home, Solona had sung and petted the poor thing trying to comfort it. Yet, a bird is not a person and so the creature had not found comfort in her pretty words. It had found strength in gentle care. It had healed with proper food, worms she'd dug out of the garden patch though she'd received a sound smack on the bottom for destroying the potatoes.

Sometimes, in the darkest parts of her stolen life here, she would reflect on that bird and think how akin to the broken creature she truly was. It had healed over the course of the summer, and by autumn when the leaves fell in an array of rainbow colors it flown away. So far away, that Solona had mourned it because even at such a young age she understood almost instantly that she would never see it again. It did not need her.

These women now, they truly had need of her and if her body had to be broken repeatedly as her spirit had been, then Solona would bear it all. She closed her eyes, awash in shame and regret. Haunting memories of her past came unbidden to her. The tower and the things she had done and said. Her disgust with herself welled high as she reflected that she should have fought harder than she had. Perhaps if she had cast a honeyed tongue instead of casting aspersions then things might have turned for the better.

Wisdom commanded that she examine the possibility that the opposite could have held true. The tower was always known, sometimes infamously, for twisting to the worst outcome. She'd never even truly associated with apprentice Tans, too caught up in avoiding the threat of brutal rape; yet her harrowing still was etched in her thoughts.

Frightened children had been asked to face demons in the fade as opposed to the demons that delighted in the screams of mostly unwilling females or the occasional male. The heady feeling of guilt that caused her limbs to feel heavier than their true weight, rolled within her. It was the everlasting guilt of one who survives. It was not the first time she'd wondered at what cost survival was no longer worth the pain.

Yet, looking into the faces of her sister mages, she could not give up and felt a swell of disgust at herself for even considering it. Her song came out unbidden and the others looked to her questioningly, Solona gave a sad and soft smile as the magic pulled and knitted the flesh. The elf-root worked deep and her risk for infection was minimized. She would still need observation, if only to air on the side of caution.

"Thank you Petra," she said with deeper meaning than simple thanks could ever convey.

The other woman understood, allowing her magic to touch briefly with Solona's. The haunted look in Petra's eyes brought back her sickening exchange with Ser Carroll, and heartbreak threatened to overwhelm them both.

The door slammed open, and Templars, armored guards that looked more like executioners to Solona thundered in. It disturbed the mages, and one dropped a container of poultice onto the floor. The stone would stain for a few months, and they would need to replace what was lost. As First Enchanter she would have to oversee appointing someone to the task. She briefly relished the idea of busying herself in work. The apprentices would need new lessons soon and then there was the testing that would have to be performed to gauge how well they had taken to their studies since the incidents.

It was the silence that first alerted her, causing the First Enchanter to look among the sea of helmets and see not one single friendly face.

Solona felt the dread pooling in her stomach that they possessed knowledge she did not.

"First Enchanter," A male addressed with a voice as hard as the steel blade he possessed. "By order of the Knight-Commander, you are to be held in confinement until further notice."

Her eyes became stormy as she processed his words. It did not bode well for the other mages if she were not in a position to protect them any longer. A mage, younger than Solona, started forward as if to defy them. The Templars took notice.

"She is not healed, you can-"

"I will go," Solona interrupted stoically. The Templars in the room visibly relaxed. "If the Knight-Commander has ordered it, I shall obey without delay."

The other mages exchanged glances, but fell into the safety of silence. She gave them a non-verbal expression of authority. In her mind she prayed to the Maker that they would have wisdom enough to know better than to do anything rash. It appeared that her mages were as wise as she had hoped and they released her without any show of the reluctance Solona felt they must have had. Hands of a gentle nature, trembling and afraid touched her lower back. A gesture of support that the Templars were not privy to from their position in front of the mages, gave her the strength she did not wholly feel to follow them without assistance.

She moved slowly and with as much dignity as one in her position possessed. One Templar started forward to offer her his arm, a kindness that surprised the woman so much that she could find no fault in his action. She inclined her head gracefully, and gathered her robe closer about her frame.

"That is not necessary, though you have my thanks," she replied quietly. The Templar's brown eyes sized her up as if to appraise if she could even walk five measly steps, let alone all the way down into the dungeons. "I am strong enough," she added with a touch more diplomacy, "in truth I am."

He relented and moved back into formation. She gathered her destroyed robe against her skin like a cloak of her tattered dignity. Solona moved slowly, and though it was not as fast as she would have preferred to get through her humiliation quickly, no Templar breathed so much as a word. She was not, however, remiss to notice more than a few appreciative stares at the areas of her exposed skin. Solona stared straight ahead as she walked, the only sounds that her ears heard was that of their armor clanking against the stone.

She allowed herself to lower her hair to cover what she could of the gaps the fabric failed to keep from the hungry eyes of lustful men. Mages averted their eyes out of respect for her and what she had done. It must have circulated through the tower with the speed of a wildfire, her reason for refusal. She understood that it would not have taken much for one of them to hear her scream not to send them. Mages were rather intelligent when it came to their own necks being offered up on a silver platter by the Chantry for the slights against Andraste or the Crown.

It seemed an eternity had passed as her tried flesh was forced to follow behind the men whose faces she'd see in her nightmares. They opened the heavy double doors that led further down into the bowels of her caged world. It was not Aeanor, the mage's prison, but it was not a place of comfort or conducive to convalescing.

Solona licked cracked lips, and forced herself to breath in the damp and musty air. This is where those who were to be forgotten in the tower, even for small periods of time, went. The leader of the unit opened the cell which would house her without looking at her. Solona nodded at him as the Templars parted to allow her to pass.

She steeled herself against the sound of the door closing, and the lock turning. She turned her back to them, shivering under the weight of the cold air touching exposed skin. The cell was small and cleaner than she'd expected. Spiders, black creatures with many eyes and legs, had made homes in the corners of her new lodgings with abandon. The First Enchanter said nothing as her eyes wandered the confines of her prison.

"You are to be given a new set of robes," A nameless Templar informed her, and Solona was struck by the fact that he sounded almost apologetic about having her walk in her current state. It seemed a bitter sort of irony that a Templar would feel anything close to sympathy for a mage no matter her station. "And food will come at the normal meal times, should you have need of something your guard has been instructed to fetch the Knight-Commander."

She nodded with her body too stiff in combination to aching muscles and cold to want to turn and face her prison guard.

"Please convey my gratitude to the Knight-Commander for his consideration," the mage replied hoarsely.

Silence prevailed for a moment, as she waited for them to leave. "It will be done, First Enchanter," the Templar responded with a thoughtful edge to his tone. Solona did not care what they thought about her words, but she needed to paint a picture that she was subservient to the Knight-Commander. And, in a sense that left her stomach clenched in equal parts anger and shame, she was. Solona was a mage precariously balanced on the sharp edge of recreating or destroying the fragile peace that had existed between her kind and Templars. She likened it to walking on broken glass, should she be exceedingly careful and move her steps in such a way that the pressure was evenly distributed, she could manage to keep the cuts to a minimum.

But it was not simply her life that was affected by her actions, but the lives of every mage held behind the gray stone walls of this tower and every mage that would ever walk through the main doors.

She listened to the sounds of them leaving, all except for one that stood guard away from her to make sure she did not attempt to escape. The thought was ludicrous and left her nearly amused. Solona knew without being told that she'd never get far and should she leave the others would pay for her actions in blood, pain, and atrocities that would make her previous hate of the tower pale in comparison.

However, her magic had told her of another reason she would never be able to run far or fast enough. The First Enchanter looked away from the wall, toward the bars with bittersweet longing and fear. One hand traced down to her midsection with gentle fingers caressing her flat stomach.

If it had survived her lashing, she would have yet another heartache to bear.

She could not tell Ser Cullen, not yet. It was better to spare herself the possibility of reprisal should her body fail to help it thrive. There would be no telling what his reaction might be, or what she would need to do to appease him if he ever found out she had allowed him to lash her without telling him that his seed had taken root inside of her.

She shivered in the damp and darkness, watching the torches flicker occasionally. If there was anything left of justice in this world, her child would not bear its mother's curse. It would never know this tower or her, and to Solona that would be the ultimate mercy from a silent and uncaring Maker. Unease filled her, this was not the time to think of things that might be. The stress on her body and the trauma had likely been too great. She had seen what other mages had gone through from conception to birth with distrust and anger.

She felt tears prick her eyes as she attempted in vain to cast out thoughts of a child.

The sound of footsteps descending put both Solona and the guard on edge. She expected a Templar bearing fresh robes, or Ser Cullen. Yet, the wicked face of Ser Carroll came into view. His eyes shone in insane delight at her plight.

"Ser Carroll?" Her guard queried surprised. Solona felt dread pool heavily in her stomach, She pulled the tattered robe closer, thought it provided no comfort from his leering eyes. Her skin crawled in revulsion to his eyes upon her. She recalled all too clearly what had transpired the last time he'd neared her and also what had happened to poor Petra.

"Ser Brann is requesting you," Ser Carroll lied glibly with a smooth tone. "Something about a bottle of missing wine?"

The nameless Templar huffed indignantly. "I shall speak to him after my duties. I had informed him before that I did not touch his wine."

Ser Carroll painted a fake look of concern on his face. "I think it would be best to go now." He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered "he's thinking about addressing it with the Knight-Commander."

The younger Templar appeared greatly perturbed by the prospect of having his name incorrectly slighted. "But, I cannot leave-"

"I will take over guard duty for you," he offered quickly, and his face oozed with friendly help.

Solona swallowed nervously. "Ser?" She prompted softly. "Perhaps it would be best to wait? You would not want to be accused of lack luster performance." She was desperately attempting to get the guard to stay. Ser Carroll's eyes flashed at her angrily.

Had she not been frightened before, she certainly was now. The younger man looked around undecided. Common sense said to address the issue after he was relieved of his duties, but another Templar was offering him a way to take care of a problem sooner.

"Go on," Ser Carroll urged, "You don't want to listen to a _mage_ that has been locked down _here_ do you?"

Solona knew the moment the young Templar nodded, that she was doomed. "Please send the Knight-Commander," she interjected quickly, "I have need to speak to him. Please," she stressed the last word trying to scream in frustration. The man nodded and quickly retreated up the steps, shutting the door behind him.

She was keenly aware that she was alone with Ser Carroll, in a dungeon where it would be neigh on impossible for someone to hear her scream unless he wished it.

"You did that on purpose," he half-snarled at her. "Why must you always try to anger me? Hm my sweet?"

She twitched involuntarily at his endearment. She was his nothing, and she prayed it remained that way. She watched with fear brimming inside her as he stalked closer toward the bars.

"Come closer, I want to see you." He whispered lustfully, and Solona backed up against the wall her eyes never leaving him. "Now, now. No need to be shy. You won't be protected much longer," a sardonic sneer twisted around his mouth. He laughed at her in a mocking sense of surprise. "You didn't know? You couldn't possibly think you'd stay the First Enchanter after what you pulled?"

His teeth gleamed in the firelight and Solona could only think of a hungry wolf about to attack its prize and eviscerate it.

"That is not your decision," she replied as stoically as possible.

"No," he hummed amused, "you're right, my little Amell. That would be the Revered Mother's. From what I heard, Ser Cullen has already written a message to her. What will your fate be? Hm. It is all so deliciously sweet." His eyes lingered on her breasts and he walked closer to the bars.

She said nothing, hoping he would not open her cell and force himself on her. No, even he could not be that foolish. If that had been his intent, then his boorish hands would already be forcing her down onto the ground. Solona felt nausea wash over her as well as rising panic.

"You know, I thought I would have to stage a little 'accident' for dear old Cullen. But no, my little Amell went and behaved badly, now you are going to be mine without all the fuss." He laughed heartily and her ears tried to drown out the sound.

"How will you taste little one?" He smirked at her wickedly and she saw him bask in her growing fear. "The second you are not protected by some fancy title, I am going to have you on your back. Or maybe your knees? You'd love that, wouldn't you Amell?"

He stripped her of her title several times over and she closed her eyes against the vulgarity of his words. She knew all too well what he had done to Petra and instinct warned her that he would be ten times crueler to her. She understood as her blood seemed to freeze in her veins that he wanted her to know what he would do to her if given the chance. If his words were true he very well might get the chance.

The same terror that had driven a young woman to seek out a 'Protector' rose to life within her. He had wanted her for years. She held no delusions that he would not extract payment for her escaping him from every inch of her flesh.

"They talk about having you, you know." His eyes narrowed menacingly. "To bury themselves between those tender thighs," his eyes narrowed predatorily on her. "You may have panted like a bitch in heat for Ser Otto, and your deceitful ways might have kept you away from me with the Knight-Commanders, but your little tricks won't keep you safe now. You thought you'd gotten away, didn't you?"

She could not believe the depth of his insanity if he thought she had wanted to be bedded by any of the men who'd shared her bed.

He looked flush with desire and he was breathing heavily, Solona cringed away from the sight he created. "You haven't produced yet," he threw the slang term for a pregnancy in the tower in her face. "I bet all you need is my help." He offered nearly congenially. "Maybe I have been too harsh with you. They say you've been using potions to keep from producing."

She hadn't, and she did not even know how to make such concoctions, they were strictly forbidden and the recipes for it not kept in the tower.

"You've been waiting for me, haven't you my little Amell? Waiting for me to bury myself deep inside of you, and give you a _real_ bedding." He drove home his remark by thrusting his pelvis at the bars.

She gagged in her mouth and eyed him like the predatory animal he was.

The sound of the door opening, and the young Templar from before re-entering caused Ser Carroll sto straighten.

"We are not finished here my little Amell," he warned her sinisterly, before carrying on polite conversation with the other Templar.

"I couldn't find Ser Brann," the young man said sullenly.

"Not to worry," Ser Carroll replied in a friendly manner, with his eyes still watching Solona intently, "I'll speak to him on your behalf."

When he had finally left, Solona wept terrified and alone in her prison.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you to all that have read and reviewed! **

**Rated M, I own nothing, and may not be suitable for some audiences. Reader beware!**

OoOoOo

Ser Carroll came every night, with heinous whispers in the dark and lewd suggestions. He spoke of a twisted sort of affection for her that caused Solona to shift deeper into the farthest corner from him and his reaching hands. It perturbed her to no end that he truly believed she should have been his. Some of his insanity sparked at her having sought out Otto, and then being given to the Knight-Commanders. The woman grew ever more uncomfortable at the mention of the men that she'd graced the beds of. It had not been out of lust as he painted the memories, no, it had been out of survival and it seemed as if Solona was doomed to run out of options.

He waited, always waited patiently like a hound with the fresh scent of blood to tantalize his nostrils as he watched her. He waited until the changing of the guard, some excuse as to being there and then he would slip out of the shadows like the worst Demon of the Fade. His gaze always held some hungry sharpness for the physical that left her feeling sickened.

It was his atrocious acts in their moments of being unsupervised that left her afraid.

He touched himself, commanding her to watch and she could not stop the racking shudders of revulsion as they tore over her body. She refused to cry in front of him, more frightened at the prospect such an act would only serve to inflame his lust. For some Maker-unknown reason he refused to let her go, or let her live in peace even in this prison. Solona did not understand his obsession, but she knew that she or other would be hurt by it again.

For nearly two months he came to her, though she had seen neither hide nor hair of Ser Cullen. She held no proof that Ser Carroll tormented her, and who would take the word of a rebellious mage. Though her position would have commanded respect, she was still in limbo. The unknown was a shroud around her and she prayed that the mages were not suffering worse for her disobedience. The proverbial wolves stood unguarded around the lambs, and she wept bitterly at the thought. The children would be safe, the bedraggled creatures that had been drug in as unwilling as she had been all those years ago.

Only now, there was no First Enchanter to ease their fears and draw the blood for their phylactery as painlessly as possible. It made her burn with righteous fury at her helplessness, and allowed her to keep the worst of the mounting agitation which slipped through her veins at bay.

This night, there was a difference in the air that caused Solona to fidget in the darkness. Something nearly sinister seemed to permeate the very room, and she recited spells of calming, not daring to actually draw on her power. By all that she'd lived, she did not wish another blood mage attack. Though, if there were another attempt this time, it would have proven nearly paltry in comparison to the one that had stolen Wynne from them.

Her stoic guards, living metal, remained mute behind their faceguards at her nervousness. She refused to express such things to them, as even these men should not be trusted. The last guard waited impatiently to be released from his duty of watching over the rebellious First Enchanter. She knew she smelled foul, the stale scent of old sweat and unwashed body accompanied her wherever she paced in her cell. There had been the luxury of many chances to bathe. Though it had been allowed, it was by the week and not every day or few days.

Ser Cullen was punishing her, she understood that long ago. It did not ease the burden of carrying his child, and in truth she feared for the unborn safety. Her midsection had started to plump slightly. Her gown had grown snug and she could not allow Ser Carroll to learn her condition. She knew that his cruel nature would grow one-hundred fold if he knew, and Solona could all too well imagine what he might do.

It was highly forbidden, and a heavily punished offence to cause the interruption of her condition yet she was uncertain if that fact would stop him anymore.

The door to the dungeon swung open, and her guard left without further thought. She could hear the sounds of people speaking, but was unable to make out the words. Laughter drew her gaze upward, it was nearly light and carefree. Solona felt a small smile curl her lips, only to turn to dismay as Ser Carroll came down the steps. Tonight he was not alone.

He had forced Petra, who stumbled unwillingly beside him, to enter the dungeons. The air was thick with fear, lust, and horror. Ser Caroll strutted over toward the bars, a pleased continence about him. His gaze was sly as it moved between the women. He seemed to relish the look of terror on Petra's face and fury on Solona's.

"Ah pet, you've missed me," He drawled lowly, his fingers groping indecently over Petra's breast. Petra whimpered in humiliation and obvious pain over what they all knew was likely to occur. Dread pooled in Solona's stomach, her heart nearly breaking at the sight.

"Stop," Solona said, barely audible in her dismay of the unfolding scene before her. "Stop, please."

"Oh yes," he said with silted eyes, "I do like it when you beg, my little Amell. Isn't she doing a wonderful job Petra?" He asked with desire lacing his words as he leaned closely to the captive mage's ear. His tongue darted out, tasting the delicate shell. Petra sobbed silent tears of shame and panic. Solona jerked forward, instinct demanded she comfort the other mage.

"See," Ser Carroll continued forcefully, "I thought perhaps you would like to know what I have in store for you, little mage, and Petra was rather _eager_ to _demonstrate_."

The other mage lowered her eyes, as the tears fell upon the cold stone floor. The First Enchanter knew his words were false, but if Petra did not say anything to the contrary, it was not rape in the eyes of the Chantry. What the other woman had endured to this point to be so thoroughly used to the abuse made Solona despise Ser Carroll further. She had not previously believed such a feat possible.

"No," Solona pleaded, "do not do this."

"Lift up your skirt," He barked at Petra who flinched and continued to sob as she complied.

"Stop!" The First Enchanter cried with true pain at the sight of her dear friend about to be abused in front of her very eyes.

He freed his manhood, it was swollen with desire and Solona fought the wave of nausea that built in her throat. Her magic roared to life at her distress, the song nearly deafening to those that could hear it in the enclosed area of the dungeons. His eyes flashed with excitement.

"Why? We've made arrangements, haven't we sweet-one?"

Petra nodded stiffly, her face turned away.

"Nothing against the rules is going on here." He gloated, his passion toward her obvious.

"This isn't the way it should be, Ser Carroll," she pleaded gently as she hope to reach a decent side of him, it here was such a thing.

Her words had the opposite effect on him. Ser Carroll's eyes narrowed, his mouth pressed into a line of sheer anger. "How it should be? It should have already been that you were in my bed nightly," he growled out lowly gripping Petra's arm harshly until he mage cried out in pain. "It should be that you are mine. You are _mine_," he reminded her sinisterly that she would not escape him.

"Instead," he continued as she remained silent, not wanting to provoke him further. "You allowed yourself to be stolen from me. _Me_. After I had put so much time into wooing you, and after all I have done for you." His eyes spat fire and she lowered her gaze from the crazed look which swirled in them.

He had done nothing except frighten her beyond all compare, but to him in some twisted way it was affection he expressed. She wanted nothing to do with him, and would be more than fitting for him to die of a fit over not having her. However, Petra was caught in his grasp and she could not leave her to such a fate. It was Solona he wanted to hurt, and he was doing so by use of another mage.

She watched with disgust and fury at the degradation of her friend, as Ser Carroll commanded the woman to the dirty floor. Cold and dirty, Solona knew what the floor felt like. She'd slept on it more than once.

His body moved over Petra's as the woman clung with white fingers at the hem of her skirt keeping it upward, and the dam of pride that had kept Solona from him burst.

"I'll take her place!"

Ser Carroll froze with a wicked smile on his lips. Solona already felt more sullied than she had in her entire life.

"Will you now?" He asked nearly seductively. Petra's wide eyes landed on Solona and The First Enchanter knew they begged her not to interfere, however, she had to.

She could not watch this, or hear this.

"Yes," Solona said in defeat. "Yes, I will take her place."

"But you are the _Knight-Commander's_." He sneered angrily.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. It was worth what she would experience at his hands to save Petra.

A weak smile, meant to be seductive but failed miserably painted her lips. "As you said, Ser Carroll, I will not be the First Enchanter after this. Surely, we've both waited too long for this." The words were thick on her tongue and the insults she wanted to hurl at him, were left unsaid.

His eyes lit up at her words, just as she'd assumed they would. He wanted her to want him, and that caused a shudder down her spine. His sick obsession, she needed right now to protect the bared mage.

"You're lying," he teased with a current of warning in his tone. He stood, looking at her and then at Petra.

"I'm forbidden to lie to a Templar. Wynne, told me to seek Ser Otto out," she told him truthfully with a tinge of desperation. "Ask anyone that was there at the time. Wynne told me to take him as a protector." It was a ploy and she needed him to take it.

"That Bitch," he hissed. Ser Carroll's face contorted into fury. "She knew I wanted you. She made you run from me."

That was not the case, and Solona fought the growing urge to be sick all over the floor. She simply nodded. He would interpret the motion as he wished.

"I knew you'd want me," he said softly, nearly like an endearment that caused the pit of her stomach to plummet to the soles of her feet. Filth was all around them. Filth stood in front of her with a swollen cock that bobbed as he walked toward her.

"You do want me don't you?"

She closed her eyes and tamped down on the sweet, calming, sounds of her magic. The words were acid on her lips as she fought back the tears. "Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I want you."

"I knew that all along, my Amell. My _sweet_ mage." His look of triumph made her feel lightheaded as her mind willed her to stay detached from what was happening.

"Solona, no-?" Petra's words were a question she feared to even form thoroughly. Solona quivered as she forced the tears back. Ser Carroll could not see tears or he would know her lies for what they were. She needed to look pleased and it was the hardest thing she'd ever done.

"Quiet you little whore, we aren't finished yet." Ser Carroll snapped back without hesitation.

Petra whimpered, pacified for the time being.

"On your knees, Amell," he rumbled with delight. "Show me how much you want me."

Nauseated, she obeyed. She closed her eyes, and willed the nightmare to be over soon.

"Look at me," he commanded and Solona did. He was awash in lust and delight at her position. "Open your mouth."

Her mind shuddered at his request, she'd never done what he wanted her to do, and she knew about the act from other mages. He disgusted her, but she would do it.

"Let Petra go," she offered gently and cautiously. "I don't want our first experience with each other to be witnessed by someone else."

He looked at her angrily.

"I want you all to myself." She said, nearly choking on the words.

His anger abated and he looked at her somewhat appeased.

"Get out," he snapped at Petra, who shambled to her feet. The eyes of the mages met and a wealth of understanding was exchanged between them. Gratitude, shame, fear, loathing, sadness, and understanding echoed between the two women.

"I said get out!" Ser Carroll roared and it broke the trance between the pair, Solona opened her mouth, lips trembling. Petra scampered up the steps.

She had only made it up three, when Ser Carroll pressed forward against the bars, his cockhead twitching in anticipation. He seemed unable to restrain himself.

"Put your mouth on me," He commanded roughly, his voice deepened with desire.

Solona tried to quell the dragons hatching in her stomach, as she moved closer toward his manhood. Revulsion and despair permeated the air as her mouth drew nearer to what he wanted from her. Her mouth was dry, and she did not care to assume that it would matter much to him or to her in a few moments.

"What are you doing here mage?" The voice was hard and harsh. Solona drew back as Ser Carroll hurriedly put himself away, righting his clothes. Petra's voice though not her words floated down to the pair below.

Solona's gaze flickered upward to the panic on the Templar's face at getting caught forcing himself on the First Enchanter.

"Stand up now, or Petra will suffer far worse." Ser Carroll bit out in agitation and fear.

She moved to her feet, but he was already dragging her upward to stand. Solona backed away from him instinctually trying to put as much distance between her and her tormentor as possible. Booted feet echoed down the steps, Ser Carroll stood in front of her cage as if he were guarding her.

A Templar she did not recognize, with a golden emblem on his armor came into view. His surreptitious gaze landed on Ser Carroll, before moving to Solona. His eyes and face betrayed nothing of his thoughts. He came forward, tall and imperious, to the bars, a key dangling from a ring in his hand.

"At ease," he rumbled pleasantly to Ser Carroll. "I've come for your charge."

Ser Carroll said nothing, and his eyes never left the other Templar's face. Solona could feel the hostility radiating from Ser Carroll, while she was glad of it. Aeonar would be better than this, though she could not go in her present condition.

"First Enchanter, Sonola Amell?"

She nodded mutely, unable to speak.

"The Revered Mother has summoned you."

OoOoOo

They allowed her to bathe, and dress in a new set of robes. The pomp and circumstance disgusted her, but not nearly as much as Ser Carroll had. She scrubbed every inch of her flesh until it was pink in protest and small droplets of blood had appeared on her face. Solona's magic had hummed to life trying to repair the damage gently. She was not akin to a bride readying for her bridegroom, but a woman preparing for her death.

How much had been revealed to the Holy Mother, Solona did not know, but she assumed it was everything. Her back still bore the fine lines of scarring, and she wondered if Ser Cullen would be present. After all, she would no longer be the First Enchanter after this, if she already hadn't been replaced.

She did not bother to fix her hair, this was her last defiant stand in a sense and she would not grant them the satisfaction of her care. They led her without force to the office of the Knight-Commander, where tapestries had been hung outside the door. Large symbols of Andraste filled her vision mockingly. The Templar that had come for her, pushed open the door and Solona was greeted with the sight of the Revered Mother.

She was an older woman, with gray hair braided neatly. Her face was stoic and she watched Solona enter with hawkish eyes. She oozed with a calm aura that the mage could already tell was not her true character.

Solona knew the woman before her was calculating, and likely a religious zealot that would have her slain if she were not careful. She wasn't willing to be careful with a few dozen mage's lives hanging in the balance.

"I have heard," the woman's voice cut across the room, "that you denied sending the mages into battle to protect this beloved homeland."

Solona was uncertain if she was permitted to speak, or if it was ever required of her. The mage stood tall and waited.

"Are you incapable of speaking?" The verbal barb bit deeply into her.

"I am."

"Then perhaps, First Enchanter, you can answer as to why you dared defy Chantry edict?"

Her face closed off at the question. Her voice was pure ice, like the hardest Freeze in Thedas. "It would be sending the mages to be slaughtered."

"Yet you would have me send the Templars, without magic assistance. Would that not also be slaughter?"

"You Templars are far better trained than the mages-"

"So you decide who should fight for their country or not? You feel you have the right to decide who lives or dies by magic?

Solona raised a brow at the snappish questions.

"Do you truly intend to stand there and attempt to play your hand at the Maker's trade?"

"Play the Maker?" Solona asked with heavy outrage, as she drew herself upward to stand at her full height. Her lithe figure oozed dignity and distain. "You think_ I_ play at being the _Maker?_" She asked with an arched brow as her words dripped ill-disguised venom. The hypocrisy of this woman astounded her. Magic danced around her, the strings of a song filled with the hurt only the damned know. The never ending abyss that life brought was far too little hope and generous portions of sorrow.

Her eyes swirled with the song of her magic; it filled the air causing more than a few Templars to charge forward. Their swords were drawn as they sought to protect the Revered Mother from the dangerous mage. Solona was no the dangerous creature in the room this day, that title could only be laid squarely on the holy woman's shoulders.

Playing at being the Maker … indeed. Her muddled eyes could no longer see the face of the woman, and she sought refuge in that small miracle. She needed her resentment to build. This could not continue if the mages were to live. They had never truly lived before, so it should not make much difference now. Mages were dammed to live a life of forced subjugation for the lust filled couplings of amoral Templars.

Suffering it all because of an unfortunate circumstance of birth, her mind could not forgive the atrocities this supposed woman of the cloth hurled as if it were only the magic-tainted's due. Her hands fisted at her sides, for a single moment the First Enchanter exuded the regal bearing of a war-torn Queen and not the visage of mage prisoner.

"It is not my kind that locks you up in towers or takes away their freedom."

The Revered Mother's hawkish gaze narrowed. "For the safety of –"

"Safety?" Solona cajoled mockingly. "You think throwing sheep in with wolves in a cage is safe? There is _no_ safety to be found in these walls, _Revered Mother._ There is only pain, devastation, and death." Her soft lips pulled back in an icy sneer. "It is not your precious sisters that are forcibly rutted as if they are animals. Brood mares," she continued with her continence revealing her deep and profound sorrow, "without feelings or importance. It is only mages that have their children ripped from them moments after birth. It is the mages that scream for help as they are forced to receive your _precious_ faith's holy seed."

Unseeing magic eyes managed to pin the Revered Mother with a look that was neither hostile nor welcoming. A blank mask of stoicism that caused the men in the room to shiver away with shame as their weapons drooped momentarily.

"You are not the one, Revered Mother, which has to tell children they must accept that their bodies will never be their own again. That the prompt to copulate should never be denied no matter the circumstances because they were born a mage."

The elder woman had grown steadily paler, aghast at the First Enchanter's words.

"Rape is expressly forbidden," she denied as she adamantly tried to regain her look of composure.

Solona scoffed softly at the proffered false words. "Yet coercion is not above Chantry law."

Wrinkled lips pressed into a firm line, the secret and shameful sin of the so-called righteous faith was aired in the room. She could feel Cullen prickle at her unwelcomed speech. Her mind flickered over the still raw memories of her lashing. She doubted he would be able to contain his Templar blood lust much longer. She would likely perish for this behavior, but she was the guardian to a nearly dead tower. It was only ghosts that lived her and the rail thin waifs that she would shepherd into a living Black City.

The First Enchanter knew demons; she saw them whenever she opened her eyes. She saw them in the veil. Thedas could be extinguished by war and she would still be held fast in this accursed Circle that knew neither beginning nor end.

"Do you think to convince me child with petty words of indulgent hindrances?""

"Indulgent _hindrances_?" She spit the question like a curse, hot and sick upon her lips. "We _mages,_" she bandied the title about like a weapon. "We must stay within these walls for our entire lives unless we are being marched to our death in battle, your beloved Sovereign King calls for our blood to be spilt over some imagined insult!"

A flash of anger crossed the woman's face. "Do you wish foreigners to come knocking down our villages to raise and pillage? Do you wish to the suffering of thousands on your hands?"

The song of her magic stilled and her eyes cleared instantly.

Solona pierced her with a knowing look, "Then we truly would be the same, would we not Revered Mother?"

"You forget your place," Cullen cut her off harshly; his eyes gave promises of pain and punishment. She saw only the loyal chantry hound in front of her. No traces of the Knight-Commander who'd asked after the mages was left in his steely gaze.

"You will send the mages," The Revered mother commanded returning her face to a neutral mask of false nurture. A thin threat tangled in with her words, and Solona ignored it. What more could they take from them, that they had not already taken?

"I will not." Solona replied defiantly, her position already stripped from her and the lives of a precious few mages trembled in the hands as she forced herself to show a resolve she had not previously thought possible.

The Revered Mother's presence seemed to chill the air all around her. Solona and the elder woman stared heatedly at each other, their gazes assessing and Solona wondered with such unexpressed agony how another woman could force such a fate on all of them without compassion or mercy.

Her thoughts returned to Wynne, and Solona knew the feeling of being lost in a nightmare without end.

"Learn your place," Ser Cullen hissed unforgivingly. The other Templars that guarded the Chantry head exchanged looks of panic at her defiance. The mage merely lifted her chin, unmoving and unyieldingly beautiful in that moment.

Her eyes expressed the horrors that only those that had walked these stone halls could ever understand. The terror of being cornered by Ser Carroll, facing blood mages, and forcing herself to bed men she despised.

"I know my place, Knight-Commander. I protect the mages," She responded gentling her words, because the others would still be liable for her refusal.

The mage's gaze swung back to the Holy mother. "You speak of thousands being subject to torture or one sort or another, yet you do not even glance at us mages."

The older woman had the grace to move her gaze away from the First Enchanter's guileless reproach. Unease filtered through the room and as the points of swords glinted at her wickedly in the firelight the only mage present allowed the song of her magic to dim. Her clear eyes became clouded as she watched the Chantry members still under her words.

"I would be within my rights to have you executed, mage Amell, or sent to Aenor at the very least. Perhaps some time there would teach you some much needed humility. " The threat hung between them, the elder woman's face was tight with anger and the barest twinges of remorse flickering behind otherwise guarded eyes.

A small bittersweet smirk danced on her lips as Solona's regal façade dissolved into an air of disillusionment.

They would not kill her. Her condition would not allow it. Her courage raised several levels.

"No," the mage informed the room as if it were some simple potion ingredient being read from a well memorized list. Her tone was clear and bathed in bone-weary truth. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, observing the room cautiously, and her eyes never strayed very far from the wicked points aimed at her.

"No?" A brow arched higher into the Revered Mother's hairline.

"You may send me if you wish, but it would be for naught. The mages have suffered greatly; far beyond what you believe may happen to a few villages. Their morale is low and they would not survive." The words held a sense of finality in them. "We have nothing to live for, _Revered_ Mother," her words tumbled out viciously.

The Holy figure paused, her gaze assessing the younger woman intently. "Do you wish to go with them First Enchanter?"

Solona drew back in confusion.

"Do you want to lead them into war?"

Part of her did. She wanted the chance to escape her hell, but there was a life not her own growing firmly inside her. IF she were a more selfish person, she would have agreed right there on the spot. She both did and did not want the unborn child that rested in her womb. Even though she hated how her child had come into being, it was still a part of her. The small life was the only thing that was truly hers to hold and protect, even if it was just for a time, in this tower and she could not risk its life.

She would not send a child to die, just as she would not send her sister mages.

"It would be forbidden," she replied nonplussed without her earlier bite, "by your own Chantry no less."

The elder woman watched her like a snake poised to strike. "Is that so?"

Solona knew Revered Mother had understood her meaning quickly. The mage gave a nod. "Yes," she said with eyes meeting the hawkish gaze of the Chantry member.

A small gasp, the miniscule widening of pairs of eyes as they watched her nearly mesmerized at her bold admission. It was the set of Amber orbs that burned into her; Solona met his gaze for a single moment, fear and the heavy swirling of anxiety weighing on her worse than a lapse of moral judgment. Her face betrayed her helpless state of being as her arm curled around her midsection in a desperate attempt to protect what was already safely cocooned inside of her.

"I had heard you were barren," the older woman commented.

"It would seem that is not the case," she replied with her head held high.

"This is excellent news. You are the strongest Spirit mage that has existed in well over 300 years. The child from your body should prove a great resource to the Chantry."

She nearly sighed in disgust. "If you wanted more resources for the Chantry and Ferelden as you claim, you would know that the best way to get them would be to encourage the mages and not the Templars."

This caused everyone to pause. Her words rung with a sense of truth that had the calculating gaze of the Revered Mother watching her.

"Go on."

The First Enchanter knew that it was a moment of destiny. Her words would potentially be reflected in the lives of countless mages. "Let us mages choose, and not the Templars, who to bring to our beds. Give us the choice and the numbers of children produced from this tower would increase."

"There is no-"

"Look at Antiva," Solona reprimanded lightly. "They have more mages than Ferelden because their woman are allowed to choose partners."

"It would be unwise to follow their example. Their guard is lax."

She refrained from pointing out that it was Feredlan that had a blood mage uprising. "It we were to try it though, and the birth rate increased, would that not strengthen the circle?"

"Mages are given too much power already."

"There are only a few handfuls of mages, actual harrowed mages, left at all. The rest in this tower are children."

What she said was the truth and the revelation of which was etched on the faces in the room. "Surely the king's men can hold back the possible invasion for one year."

It was possibly, very possible. Ferelden had fought tooth and nail for decades to gain back their land, and that fervor had not died in the second generation of freedom.

"Return the First Enchanter to her cell," The Revered Mother snapped out suddenly. "Make certain that her comforts are addressed due to her delicate condition."

Solona mentally flinched at the reminder of her new status while she carried Ser Cullen's child.

Some small, insignificant, part of her had wanted to break the news more gently; surely even The Knight-Commander deserved such a courtesy. She shivered in repulsion at how the child had been conceived, not out of love as her own life had started, and she watched with a primitive sense of detachment as Ser Cullen's eyes lingered on her midsection. His face was etched of flesh colored stone.

However it was his eyes as they had rose to meet hers once more that caused her breath to hitch high in her throat. She felt her skin flush, unsure of what to think about this situation or the look of what her agitated frame of mind could only proffer as pride in his steady gaze.


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you my lovely reviewers! I am updating per request, and thank you all for your time and patience.**

**Rated M. Strong material and content, may not be suitable for some. Please do not read if you find this offensive. I own nothing. **

**Sorry, I uploaded the wrong chapter earlier! Here is the correct one.**

OoOoOo

Solona knew the instant she was escorted back down to the dungeon; Ser Carroll would be waiting for her. A viper poised to strike her, even as she stood bereft of her station and safety. Her hands shook, though she took great precautions to keep the fact from her Templar guards. She felt sick, in her heart there burned a great fire to help her sister mages. She might very well have endangered them by speaking so frankly to the Revered Mother. It was a risk that she was forced to take. The mages could not continue like this. Ferelden and the Circle of Magi could not go on this way.

All she had done had been for the mages. It was for her child that may or may not carry the taint of magic within it. It was in memory of her stilted youth and stolen innocence. Her denial had been for every mage that walked these unforgiving halls. She had placed her life on the line for every mage that had yet to be confined to the Circle. The First Enchanter reflected that her outburst had not been terribly far removed from signing her own death warrant.

There were worse ways one could die than by chopping block.

Suicide was not uncommon in the Circle. For some, it was considered a large act of cowardice to openly entice the demons across the veil. It was the final desperate act of an oppressed mage attempting to lash out at their Templar captors one more time before answering the call of death.

For others, it was sweet release. Those that had been forced to part with multiple children, or those that could not stomach being tranquil and still used for fornication also chose to die. Their methods were normally far more traditional. Solona had been the one that found an apprentice hanging from the rafters. He'd hung himself by a Chantry vestment he had torn into strips and woven into a rope. He had done it an hour before compline bell. Solona had wondered if he wanted to follow 'the great silence' into the Maker's arms.

She had prayed for mercy and peace for him. The acolytes had refused to bury him, and she had ordered two other mages to help her dig him a grave. Their kind deserved at least that much. He had deserved a final resting place, no matter how simple.

Solona blinked back tears, refusing to allow the crystalline liquid to fall in front of the Templars. It was not safe yet for her to grieve. Grief was all she had known for a disproportionally long time when compared to the entirety of her life. Most of her memories were of sadness, responsibility, pain, and death.

A hand slipped down to cradle the growing swell. If there was a Maker, and if there was anything left to hope for in this miserable world of depravity; she hoped her child would be painfully normal. There would be no magic running through its veins. If she was fortunate, it was a male. Then the chance of being a mage and cursed with his mother's plight would be greatly reduced.

The Revered Mother had wanted her unborn child to be a mage. Solona knew the painfully deep emotions of a true mother in that moment. Her child was not a tool for the Chantry's amusement or to help them grown their oppression. It would be taken from her, never to return. It caused her heart to skip a painful beat at the thought. She wanted desperately for her child to never return. For if it never came back, then it was safe and not like its mother.

A soundless sob escaped her as she fought to control the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. What Mother would want their child to grow up in a place where only their body would be of value? Either in breeding more of their ilk or as a weapon on the battle field; what child would find purpose in that? Solona would never hear its first word, now would she have memory beyond the wailing and plaintive cries it would give at birth. The soft, wrinkled skin that she would not be permitted to touch and the mop of hair her fingers would never ruffle. That would be the essence of her child to her.

She would ply Ser Cullen to allow her to hold their child, even briefly, before it was taken away. That way, she might remember what it felt like to bring a dream to life. She would cherish and nurse that memory until her death. The tiny life that grew under her heart would be the one thing Solona would love until her last breath. Her child would never know of the mage mother it was born to and she was grateful. She loathed the thought that her child should know it only came into being because she was forced to play broodmare against her wishes. Against every fiber of her being, due simply to the fact that she was a Mage.

She closed her eyes as they led her back to her cell and guided her though the locking door wordlessly. The First Enchanter swallowed thickly, trying not to allow the sting in her eye to blossom into full-fledged tears. Her robes brushed a path through the grime and filth on the stone floor as she made her way toward the back of her cell.

She did not dare fathom how long it would be until Ser Carroll made his disgusting presence known.

She prayed for respite, but did not dare hope one would come. The doors to the dungeon opened slowly. She cringed and drew herself closer to the wall. Armored boots appeared in her line of sight, their glinting mocked her of a fate worse than death. Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest as she prepared herself to pull away mentally. She had heard others whisper that it helped in the forced couplings to not think at all.

It was not Ser Carroll, but the Knight-Commander that walked toward her cage. His eyes were hard and dismissing of the man that guarded her. The young Templar hastily retreaded, his armor noisily following its wearer's movements.

He started at her for a few tense moments. Her face became inquisitive in light of his silence. Did he bring news of her demotion? Was she to be beheaded, burned, or otherwise executed for daring to speak back to the Revered Mother and slight the Sovereign King?

There was something in his eyes that calmed her, though Solona could not quite deduce what it was. His hands tightened into fists at his side and his face was a blank mask.

When he spoke, she flicked her gaze down to the sheen of the stone against the nearest torchlight.

"You are well?" Ser Cullen seemed uncertain and it was a fact that did not escape the mage. She had never once seen him unnerved. Not even when the blood mages had caused havoc and destruction through the tower. It felt different, the distance between them on this exhausting night that had her balancing her life and others on thin fingers.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. She counted the black iron bars that separated her from freedom. "Indeed," she answered the picture of poise and grace under fire.

"You are with child." The statement was soft, a gentle caress hidden within the words. A heat rose to her cheeks, and she cursed herself for the swell of embarrassment that shimmered across her thoughts.

It was an understatement, for they both knew this further complicated the matters between them. Solona nodded, afraid to meet his gaze. She did not fear his reaction to her news. Rather, she feared what would become of accepting her already known fate.

"How long have you known?" His voice was probing, wary, and yet still softened. He was attempting, she reasoned quietly, to be kind to her. Solona hated the small amount of heat that painted her cheeks. She flushed at the reminder that Ser Cullen was partly responsible, if not wholly, for her current condition.

"I knew after…" the sentence trailed off as she tactfully thought over how to express her punishment without evaporating the considerate air between them.

Her silence lingered too long, allowing it to take on an air of quiet resentment.

She could hear his armor shifting as he moved his body. The First Enchanter stood unprotected except by the iron bars that separated her from the Knight-Commander.

"You knew?" Ser Cullen's voice was hard and confused all at once. The way in which he inflected the words caused Solona to look up at him. Her eyes guileless and she felt far older than she had any right to feel. "Why did you not inform me?" His stance conveyed his simmering anger. "I would have ended your punishment sooner had I known!"

"No, you would not have," the denial fell from her cracked lips easily.

"Do you call me a liar?"

"I have called you nothing of the sort. You twist my words to create imagined slights." Her shoulders hunched forward, trying in vain to protect against the words he wielded.

"You had no right."

Her face morphed into one of heated anger. "I have not had rights since I first stepped foot in this tower." Her words were fiercely stated through clenched teeth.

"Such treachery is expressly forbidden," he replied equally as heated with his hard eyes boring through her.

"It was not treachery," she denied vehemently, "you never came down here. There was no way for me to inform you." She pointed out sourly.

He stalked closer toward the bars; Solona stood her ground before him. "You had but to simply inform the guard who would have brought it to my attention."

"What would have come of that?"

"I would have permitted you to be confined to your quarters."

That would have been far preferable, but she had truly feared what would have happened if others had known of her condition. It would only have taken Ser Carroll tripping her down a flight of stairs to harm them both irreparably and having glimpsed the depth of his madness, she no longer doubted she would have befallen a ghastly fate.

Being confined in this prison was a far cry safer than her gilded cage. It was a small sacrifice, but sacrifice was nothing new to a mage.

She lowered her head, her voice soft and steady. "I was not certain, upon being brought here, that the babe would survive."

She could hear him shift. His armor clinking in the silence. "What do you mean?"

She watched his hand twitch, and her eyes raised back to his with blunt honestly. "You heard the Revered Mother," she looked away from him briefly, testing the waters, "people believed I was barren."

She had hoped she was, but the Maker had decided it was not so. Fortune did not smile upon a magic-born.

"Be that as it may, it would have been wiser to allow other creation mages to look after you." His tone was one of warning. She heeded it by straightening her back.

"What others?" She asked him balefully. "I am, or was, the First Enchanter. A spirit healer and of the handful of true mages left, only one other is even a healer. The others have basic knowledge taught to them. My condition does not occur that often as of this moment and of those that have born children all lay buried in unmarked graves."

His color paled at her words, though his face remained unchanged. His eyes never left her face.

"No one in this tower has any knowledge of seeing my condition through trouble." She clasped her hands together in nervous agitation. "And if they had tried and failed, what would become of them? Would they be punished for an honest effort, simply because it lacked success?"

"You slander my honor. I would never!"

"And what of me? Would you have me beaten for not telling you sooner?" She inquired imploringly. "What if I had lost the child?"

His face was thunderous. "Your assumptions on my character astound me. You think you know me so well? I would never have harmed the babe!"

"Because the Chantry demands it so, yes I am aware." Her tone was courteous and civil. It only served to inflame his ire to higher points.

He scowled at her, his amber eyes watching her as he attempted to solve the puzzle she presented. Solona feared he would soon place the pieces together and if the picture were not to his liking, the consequences would be dire.

She sighed tiredly, the weight of lives on her shoulders and the fatigue of her condition. "It is not about the babe."

"Of course it is."

"The child is just another thing for the Chantry, the Templars, and _you _to take away from me." She informed him blandly, the truth of her words cutting him to the quick se supposed by the stricken look on his face. "Why would I rush to tell you? This child, _my_ child… I will not see past the birth. We both know this."

"Your condition interferes with your common sense."

"But not my understanding of the future."

There was a tic in his haw as it clenched tight. His features sharp against the torchlight as his gaze rested on her midsection.

"It must be done." His voice was wooden and forceful. She wilted internally at the knowledge that he was the lesser of two evils she faced. Ser Cullen was not a monster, no that title had been firmly place don Ser Carroll's shoulders. She did not despise him any longer. Perhaps time in this cell had changed her, or the tiny heartbeat that fluttered under her own. No matter its causing, she would be tied to this man through her bloodline until the ends of time.

She would never escape him. It caused a shiver to roll down her spine like drops of rain on the tower windows. She was filled with revulsion at the humbling prospect, but also a grim sense of satisfaction because the sire of her child held some vestiges of honor unlike others she had seen. Her fingernails bit cruelly into her flesh a she tried to calm herself to deal with him.

"It is the way of things."

She lowered her head, a moment in contemplation. Her heart sung of bitter sorrow and mourning. Her magic swirled and danced around her. Her emotions showed on her face as she imagined the birth of their child. It would be a day of the greatest joy and highest pain she would ever know. She held no illusions. Yet, he stood before her with the symbol of Andraste carved in his armor as it glared at her. It reminded her that she was not like him.

Bleakly she allowed her gaze to take in his appearance. He looked every inch the Chantry's Knight he was supposed to be. His eyes betrayed nothing in the face of her emotions or her magic. Solona already understood all about him that she needed or cared to know. He wanted to pretend he would act in any fashion other than what she already expected? Very well, she'd allow him the chance to prove it. After all, she possessed nothing but time and heartbreak.

She voiced the one question that mattered about their future in this tower.

"Will I even be permitted to hold my child after it's born?"

The tower had taken many things from her. Her pride, hope, and innocence had all perished behind the walls that had been erected to protect Thedas from those that were kindred to her. She was haunted by the past, the present, and the future. Her existence confined in a state of limbo for the Chantry's whims.

The way he drew back confirmed her worst fears and ready expectations.

"Yes," she replied calmly, "I suspected as much." She turned her face away and closed her eyes. She was unable to look upon him without wanting to weep for a child she would not even be allowed in the life of.

"Then Knight-Commander, a mother bids you… no, I bid you honor this request," she said thickly as she swallowed back the sadness. "Keep our child safe and may it find the happiness so denied to us."

She had meant mages as a whole, for what mother would ever wish this fate on their child? Her feelings toward him remained mired in bitterness, disappointment, anger, and near-loathing. He was the personification of what she so desperately tried to fight against in her own way. The Chantry and their edicts are what she struggled to survive against. It was tempered only by the knowledge that he had treated her decently, and never openly sought to hurt her sister mages. Ser Cullen was the ever dutiful Chantry hound and she had come to accept that fact long ago.

A traitorous part of her reminded her he was the other half of her child, and she could not hate him without indirectly despising her offspring as well. Solona's very nature could not tolerate blaming the unborn that grew in her womb. She already had begun to love the life that pulsated with her heartbeat.

She looked at the Knight-Commander then, that strange look was back in his eyes tinged slightly by regret, the one which she could never quite place. Solona openly allowed the tears to flow down her face her breath catching in her throat, as she finally understood what it was in that gaze which reminded her of those that had left this tower one way or another.

The way Greagoir had looked at Wynne.

Ser Cullen looked at her.


	18. Chapter 18

**Thank you my lovely reviewers! Thank you my readers!**

**I find that I am forgetting to update this work as often. Please feel free to prompt me as needed.**

**Rated M. I own nothing, and yes, Carroll is a creepy bastard.**

OoOoOo

It was a time of mourning for the tower once more. For others in their lives, perhaps a birth was a time for celebration. Women would have faces filled with joy at the thought of a new arrival. They might, in their exuberance, sew together tiny clothes to swaddle the skin of their newborns with a physical representation of their love. However, to the mages in the Tower, a birth meant only heartbreak and sorrow.

Solona had been released from her cell, and was watched at every waking moment by the senior mages. The handful of truly harrowed mages crowded around her, trying to ease her burden and grief. There was nothing she could do but face the sea of sand and concerned glances. The children, and younger mages whom had been spared the knowing of such a somber occasion, did not comprehend the air of reserved pain that clung to Solona's shoulders.

Often, the innocent questions were the ones that burned her heart the most. The children, with wide eyes and eager faces, asked when she would name her babe. They were often shushed by the senior mages and pitying glances were cast in her direction. She bore it all without shedding tears where others could see. The nights alone were set aside as her time to grieve for the life that grew inside her. The tiny finger and toes she would never get to kiss, bumped within her as her child stirred in her womb. She could feel the life of her babe, and was forced to relentlessly squash the day dreams of what her child might look like.

Still, the wondering never stopped and Solona feared the day of its birth more than anything. It was two fold, her protected status would expire, and she would be forced to watch as they ripped her child form her arms and whisked it away as if her very touch would taint the little one.

She brushed back a stray lock of hair, hating the way her back ached when she stood over long. Yet, she could not stop the nervous pacing that occupied her time when she had nothing else to do. For the most part, she was kept away from the others, not permitted to leave this room unless it was an emergency. Ser Cullen, with his looks that look her breath away and caused the pain of her impending loss to twist deeper, would often pause at the entryway to her now gilded cage.

Words had not passed either of their lips to speak to each other since the night he had learned of her condition. There was a wealth of things that remained unsaid between them. Yet, his eyes always lingered at her growing waistline, knowing that his seed had taken root within her. Ser Cullen continued to gaze at her with a hard sort of sadness that left her bereft of anything but acknowledging that he was forever in the service of the Chantry.

It had not escaped her notice that Ser Carroll had been forbidden from coming near Solona's room. In fact, it was whispered by one of the senior mages that Ser Cullen had removed him from the tower all together and now Ser Carroll was forced to patrol the dock on the other side of the lake. If it were true, it gave the expecting mage a chance to breath a sigh of relief. Petra too seemed to be less ill-at-ease, though both still jumped at shadows and small noises that might herald his approach.

Solona grieved with her sister mage. They stayed far away from each other, only subtle glances when Petra passed by her room were the extent of their exchanges, for fear word might reach the unstable Templar's ever searching ears.

Tidings these days, as to her status and what was to become of her once the babe was born were scarce. She worried and fretted, knowing the child would be kept safe, but she also knew that she was very much left without the benefit of protection. The Revered Mother seemed more inclined to incarcerate her for life, rather than to allow the chance of her remaining in the tower. Solona cursed her foolishness at the same time she valued protecting the precious lives left behind to suffer in the wake of Uldred's madness.

Logically, she had defied Chantry law and would be forced to endure an even greater punishment than the lashing that had left faint pink scars down her back. The elfroot potion had greatly diminished the scars, but had been unable to stop it entirely. Solona clutched at her arms, trying to give the physical reassurance she longed to have. Even the scattering of visitors had not alleviated her loneliness and the fragile state she existed in.

Her child moved, as if to offer its mother some reassurance. Though the barest hints of a smile graced her features, all Solona could feel was numbness. Time was passing so quickly, and she dared not hope that she would be spared the rite of tranquility for her stubbornness. Yet, she would accept her fate if it meant that the mages under her care would continue to draw breath.

How the mounting effort to stop the invaders in their tracks was progressing, she had no idea. There were many fears in the Tower, and the veil seemed to sense their unease. More than once now, others had been forced back from the edge of turning to measures they would regret. Upon occasion, Solona could still hear the sickly song of corrupted magic. Her nightmares started anew, as they did for many that screamed out in the darkness in terror. The Templars were on high alert, ready to die or defend as the situation called for.

She placed a hand on her growing belly, and closed her eyes against the wave of bittersweet sadness that washed over her. Time was unforgiving, and all too soon she knew what was to come. A fate she would not avoid because of her magic-born curse.

The sound of clinking metal drew her attention, she turned, her mouth slightly opened in surprise.

Ser Cullen loomed in the doorway, watching her. His amber eyes traced her midsection softly, lingering on her hand. The sadness and longing in his face was quickly chased away by a mask of duty.

They hadn't spoken in weeks, but he was the first to break the silence. A small part of her heart squeezed nearly painfully at the cold façade he presented.

"The babe is well?" Was that a hint of concern in his tone? Solona quickly cast aside the question. It did not matter. Such foolish thoughts would only wound her further in the end.

She spoke lowly, without the uncertainty she felt and dared not even border into an impolite tone.

"Yes," she answered readily, "moving all of the time."

Something in his eyes burned brightly at her words. Perhaps it was the stoic look on his face, or the simple matter that she knew that it was correct to offer him a chance to grieve too. Would he grieve for their child?

'_Stop_,' she scolded herself mentally.

Yet, as she stared at him, neither of them moving as they tried to find a balance they'd never sought before, a part of her did not want the last precious time with her child bathed in distrust and anger.

She relented. "Would you like to feel the movements?" She offered warily and timidly at the same time. She attempted to stop herself from hunching around her swollen midsection to keep him away.

His eyes snapped to hers, his Templar guard was up and she knew that he was suspicious of the gesture of peace she offered him. Solona would have laughed at the situation mere months ago, however, she was so tired of trying to hold everything together. What part of her hadn't he already touched? Tasted? What was letting him feel the child that he had created within her body? She wanted to hate him, but she couldn't. The Knight Commander had been bound by the same chains of duty that had forced her to take him to her bed.

Just once. She wanted to let him touch her just this once. A touch that did not lead to being a vessel for his pleasure.

She remained slightly skittish and refused to walk closer to him. If he wanted to take this opportunity she offered, then he would have to bend his pride. He had never let down her expectations before, always opting to play the part of the Pious Templar. Bend to the request of a mage? Ser Cullen would never.

Solona waivered on what to think when he took a tentative step inside her comfortable prison.

She could sense, some form of intuition or instinct, that they were both uncertain of each other. He drew closer still, and she fought with herself not to back away. This ground was unknown between them. However, that look in his eyes, the same one he had given her that always had her feeling confused was prominent in his gaze. It made her heart pound in her throat, and her mouth felt dry. She watched him slowly begin to take off his gauntlet.

At her muddled feelings, as if the child knew, it began to kick once more. It stirred something within Solona, as if it knew its sire was near. She licked her lips, attempting to calm her frazzled nerves as his fingers gently slid across her stomach. He was so near, that she felt hot and flush with warmth. Where it had come from, Solona had no will to answer. Something had changed between them.

The way his touch felt was not the same.

Gentle. His hand upon her was gentle and nearly... reverent. His amber eyes were gazing hard, upon his hand, upon her. His face was a mask of stony wariness, but his eyes held the anticipation she had never seen him posses before.

A small movement, enough to feel as what she could only presume was a kick from her unborn, nearly had him drawing back. His other hand pressed at the small of her back, as he waited with a look of near awe at the hand resting there.

Their child seemed to find this as an affront for it kicked with all it's might, and Solona bit back a gasp. Two sets of eyes met, and she held her breath. His hands were on her, and she did not feel the repulsion from before, only the urge to cry. He had done nothing, caused her no harm from his touch, but something in her was ready to sob at the tenderness he showed now.

It struck her again, how unfair this tower was and her curse of her birth.

"It is.. strange," Ser Cullen informed her after a moment had passed. His eyes were carefully guarded again, and the mage felt her own walls rising to protect her from whatever else his words might bring.

She nodded, betraying nothing of her own thoughts as he held her. She could have broken free from his hold at anytime, but she lingered without knowing the reason.

"Does it... cause you pain?" He asked mildly, with a calm note in his words that underlined his curiosity.

"No," she nearly whispered turning her gaze away from him.

His hands withdrew, and took their warmth with him. It left the mage confused and very nearly missing the feeling of his touch. Solona took a step backward, trying not to feel overwhelmed at the unknown sensation.

The sound of his armor shifting, the metal scraping against itself was all she could hear as she turned toward the window. Her only means of light and to view the world that passed by her. She settle da hand over where his had been, trying to banish the feelings that made no sense to her.

Silence echoed between them, casting doubt on Solona's will to broker some sort of peace between them. Not that she had been the one to destroy their alliance alone. However, one could not make a hound serve two masters and Ser Cullen would always belong to the order that worshiped Andraste. For a fleeting moment, she very nearly pitied them both.

"Do you suppose it is a boy? Or a girl?" He asked gruffly, not making a move toward her. He had bent so much to a lowly mage already, she supposed without humor.

Her heart clenched painfully. Innocent questions were the ones that nearly undid her. She did not trust herself to speak and settled for shaking her head to the negative. Even though she had some protected status it would not spare her later were she to insult the Knight Commander.

Solona drew a breath and looked down, wondering if it were worth the risk to her fate and the others to even ask the question that plagued her night and day. However, now that he was here, and they were alone, there was no other opportune moment she could even recall as perfect as this.

"Who is to be the new First Enchanter?" She asked tonelessly, as hollow as she felt when faced with the future.

She could nearly feel is unease at the question. It echoed her own misery nearly flawlessly. Solona could understand the message by what he did not say.

"Nothing has been decreed yet," his words were soft, and she was struck by the odd notion that he was attempting perhaps, to comfort her.

She felt the icy touch of fear lace her veins once more. Her stomach rolled and she nearly lost her lunch at the unstated confirmation. She should have known. She had known she would not be allowed to keep her position. Yet, it had not stopped her wayward hopes. Now, they were crushed at her feet. She would no longer have the benefit of the Knight Commander's protection and Ser Carroll would have nothing to deter him anymore.

She barely held the sob of despair in check. Her eyes pooled with crystalline tears.

"I see," she said thickly.

"The Revered Mother has left the tower. Her edict is expected within the next fortnight." He offered her the information and Solona knew that he would not have told her had he been ordered not to speak of it.

Which could mean a number of things that left her mind exhausted.

She heard his armor, the metal upon the stone as he moved toward her. Solona could feel the heat of him at her back, but it likely was all in her imagination. They stood there as she drowned in her misery. Her mind replaying the horrors Petra had endured, and she knew there would be far worse in store for her own flesh.

Her eyes widened as she felt his arms around her. Solona stared straight ahead, watching a bird fly past the window, as her eyes widened in shock. His head rested atop hers, and he squeezed her gently in his embrace. No words passed between them, and the tears fell like a soft summer rain.

Then he was gone, his presence, his warmth, and even the scent of him. Ser Cullen had left her alone to weep at her fate, and Solona could not help but feel slightly grateful that he hadn't tried to placate her with empty words. The Templar never had. What he felt and what she had felt, the mage would never now if they were the same feeling. However, she knew that only darkness crept upon the horizon and her fate was sealed by a woman who had only the Chantry's benefit in mind.

Everything came down to the whims of that old harpy.

Solona clamped down on any trace of hope she had been clinging to. Her mind supplied the leering face of Ser Carroll and she blanched. The mage clutched tighter to her swollen stomach. Her jaw was set in a grim sort of determination. She would ensure her child lived. After that, well...

Suicide in the tower was not uncommon.


End file.
